“… We’re Not Niggas, We’re Much Better Than That …”


I say nigga bad, it ain’t good, we can do better
Hey, hey, hey, hey

[Verse 1]

Now imagine there’s a youngbul, maybe five maybe four
Ridin’ ’round with his pop listenin to the radio
and a song comes on and a not far off from being born
Doesn’t know the difference between right and wrong
Now I ain’t trying to make it too complex
But let’s just say the youngbul has an undeveloped context
About the perception of black men these days
His pop sings along and this is what he says
“Yea! I’m a real nigga, and I’m real nigga!!
and I will kill these other niggas”
And maybe other rhyming words like gold digger and trigger

Couple of things that are happenin’ here
First he’s relatin’ the word “nigga” with his pop, comma
And because he’s relatin’ to himself to his most important source of help,
And mental health, he may skew respect for dishonor


And I don’t need no hook for this …

[Verse 2]

Yeah, now imagine a group of boys nine through twelve
On YouTube watchin’ videos listenin’ to songs by themselves
It doesn’t really matter if they have parental clearance
They understand the internet better than their parents
Now being the internet, the content’s probably uncensored
They’re young, so they’re malleable and probably un-mentored
A complicated combination, maybe with no relevance …
Until their intelligence meets Meek Mill’s preference
“Real nigga whatup, real nigga whatup
If you ain’t about that murder game then pussy nigga shut up”
Now let’s say that they’re less concerned with him
And more with the coke he sells, niggas he shot, and tons of money he spends
Ah, the plot thickens
Pounds of coke, Four fifths, and the niggas hatin on em
Reality check, I’m not trippin’
They don’t see a paid rapper, just what makes a real nigga



And I don’t need no hook for this …

[Verse 3]

Disclaimer: This rhymer’s not usin’ nigga as a lesson
But as a psychological weapon
To set in your mind and really mess with your conceptions
Discretions, reflections, it’s clever misdirection
Cause, while they were gullible and growin’ up fast
Nobody stepped in to ever slow ‘em up, GASP!
Sure enough, in this little world
The little boy meets another boy in this white supremacist world
And he thinks he’s a real nigga and he thinks he’s a real nigger
He thinks of it honorably, he thinks disrespectfully
He has the wrong idea, he doesn’t wanna befriend him
He thinks he’s great at being a nigger like his ancestors
He says…
Your fathers used to act like that, act like a coon, niggerish like that
Pants at his knees, ass showin, yak no … dress like that
All out to impress like that
Just like that, you see the fruit of the confusion
He caught in a reality, he’s caught in an illusion
Nigga is not bad to him & he’ really nice and smart …
but Nigga means Nigger to him
a lazy black man that shows that he isn’t smart
Nigga means Nigger to him if you say it the wrong way
but he labels himself as a Nigga … It’s a double entendre


… A nigga write nigga in a lyric, expect the white boy to omit it,
The white boy spit it like he spit it,
Recite it to his friends who, by the way, ain’t niggas,
And say nigga, nigga, nigga, my favorite rapper did it,
And non-nigga friends got it with him,
Incorporate this lyric to their everyday living,
Until a black friend kinda hear it, just a tidbit,
He thinks aw, forget it, it’s so insignificant and little,
The white boy sees this as a clearance, now it’s
Nigga, nigga, nigga, every single day,
And that little nigga nigga, thinks it’s okay,
And he’s the only nigga in this particular grade,
And it begins to phase him more each day,
The things they say went a little too far,
He couldn’t tell the difference between an a or er,
So they just keep going, saying nigga in his face,
There’s nothing he can do, he let it get away,
It came to the point he couldn’t look ’em in the face,
The mirror made him hurl, his reflection disgraceful,
Yeah, and make sure everything you say,
Can’t be held against you in any kind of way,
And any connotation is viewed many ways,
Cause under every nigga, there’s a little bit of kramer,
Self-hatred… I hate you… and myself…

– The Kramer by Wale



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