Bas & The Hics – Smoke from Fire Lyrics

That shit rhetorical, boy, please
Lesson we learned from like Rhodesia
‘Cause black in this world never known peace
Closest we came was a cold breeze on a plantation
For the OGs, we demand payment
Fuck the police, get no damn statement
Lawyer money in my bank statement, yeah
Hangin’ with killers, parolees
I told ’em, I got ’em, I got ’em
I heard the top can get lonely
So is the bottom, no problem, yeah
[Chorus: Bas, The Hics & Both]
I got my city on my shoulders (Oh)
I gotta work, work, work (Oh)
Don’t want no pity, I’m a soldier (Oh)
I gotta work, work, work (Oh)
I got my city on my shoulders
I gotta work, work, work
Don’t want no pity, I’m a soldier
I gotta work, work…
Still I rise, still I rise
Still I rise, still Play this song
[Intro: Bas, The Hics & Both]
Still I rise, still I rise
Still I rise, still
[Verse 1: Bas]
Been hearin’ a lot of Too High to Riot
They study me like recitals
I’m flattered, I am an idol
That mean I am inspirin’ growth, I am beside myself
Spirit is lift from the host
Nigga, this isn’t a boast, I have been given the most
Go through my body of work (Mmm)
That’s a lot of hours, fears, pride, insomnia workin’
That’s true, they might see the dirt true, they gon’ see the work too
Don’t forget to look up at the stars, my boy
Niggas washed, I can help you with them bars, my boy
Just hit up OakShades, send the check, heard? I’m the best out, wanna be the best heard
Put my life in a song, tryna get heard
Just to die a hundred times like Westworld, damn
[Chorus: Bas, The Hics & Both]
I got my city on my shoulders (Oh)
I gotta work, work, work (Oh)
Don’t want no pity, I’m a soldier (Oh)
I gotta work, work, work (Oh)
I got my city on my shoulders
I gotta work, work, work
Don’t want no pity, I’m a soldier
I gotta work, work…
Still I rise, still I rise
Still I rise, still
[Verse 2: Bas]
And kickin’ down doors when they hold keys
And put ’em in places we won’t reach
Weak niggas fallin’ for the okie
‘Cause there ain’t no place that we won’t reach
Hate your own skin and put on bleach
Hard not to feel pity for those people
Heavy the world with its bold evils
I wish you could unsee
I look at the magazine cover
But they don’t have this color
Would you still call me a thug if I ain’t have this color?