Black Hand Side

[Intro: Phonte, Pharoahe Monch, Styles P]
The great Pharoahe Monch, yo
Yes, sir, what up, P?
The great Styles P, the ghost
One, two

[Chorus: Phonte]
I say open the door and let me in
Teach us all, preach ya sins
Turn the cheek, let it slide
Give me five on the black hand side
The black hand side, oh
The black hand side, oh
The black hand side, oh

[Verse 1: Styles P]
Give me five on the black hand side (Give me five, brother)
I’ll tell you what I see through the black man’s eyes (Look at me)
Fly chick, in the Cadillac, a black man ride (Ride)
But every different day, a different black man die (Damn)
Shorty momma tripping off of crack, mad high (You know)
Now he watching TV, loving the bad guy (You know)
Piss-poor with a Welfare check, he know he African (Pssss)
'Cause he ain't get help there yet (No help)
Now he put down his knapsack, got a crack pack
You don’t overstand if your vision ain’t abstract
(You don't overstand)
Me and the projects, a lot of us is lab rats
Voted for Obama, hoping he wouldn't have that
(Don't have that, brother)
Now I can tell you that I felt hell (I felt it)
I still remember how a cell smell (I still remember the stench)
I still remember how the pigs act
Family crying up on the V.I., I couldn't dig that
Open the door and teach us all
Pass a blunt around, hoping that it reach us all
Now give me five on the black hand side (Give me five, bro)
Ghost and Pharoahe Monch, watch the black man rise (Yep)

[Chorus: Phonte]
I say open the door and let me in
Teach us all, preach ya sins
Turn the cheek, let it slide
Give me five on the black hand side
The black hand side, oh (Give me five, bruh, give me five)
The black hand side (Give me five, bruh, give me five)
The black hand side, oh

[Verse 2: Pharoahe Monch]
Pharoahe's a Navajo chief, the way I'm making it rain
But never for a stripper with emotional pain
You wouldn't despite the system nourishment for the brain
'Cause rain, sea plus soil equal fruits and grains
My hood told a nigga: keep it simple and plain
So let me explain the game
Break it down a couple levels like Tetris
These young'uns kill they own blood for a necklace (Gimme that)
Leave slumped over the wheel of your Lexus (Uh)
Smoke kush, wake up and eat breakfast, heh
What the fuck he expect?
A generation overly obsessed with mobsters
Our revolutionaries won Grammys and Oscars
Impostors, fake auras or weak chakras
Makin' a mockery of the music to be pop stars
And they say I'm insane
'Cause I see the remains of the whips and the chains
In my hood where it ain't all good
Peep the pain of a single mother, she struggling
Young child slain, give me five on the black hand side
Let’s maintain like the Soul Train
And keep it movin' together, I’m saying

[Chorus: Phonte]
I say open the door and let me in
Teach us all, preach ya sins
Turn the cheek, let it slide
Give me five on the black hand side
The black hand side, oh (Give me five, bruh, give me five)
The black hand side (Give me five, bruh, give me five)
The black hand side, oh

[Outro: Styles P & Phonte]
Yeah, Phonte, nigga (Give me five, bruh, give me five)
Styles P (Give me five, bruh, give me five)
Uh-huh, Pharoahe Monch (Give me five, bruh, give me five)
Yeah, uh-huh (Give me five, bruh, give me five)