Boots Riley is a walking contradiction like bullets and love mixin. Slurs his words with perfect diction, he's guilty of his convictions. Complicated compositions, punctuated propositions, it's tenacious two-stops, cinema with ambition. Make you rev your transmission, in the intersection twistin- when the Henny hits the ground, sidewalks will be christened. He's so nervous and sweaty, that the gat might slip out his hand. A homeless dude need a tip in his can (he put his bid in this, man. Now it's just bitterness, man). We need a bid-ness plan [a plan on how to change our economic system] , he's not just spittin at fans. When he's runnin from the police, he don't have to rush- he's so dope he just jumps in the toilet and flush. We cut it, boil it and hush, aluminum foil it and such- tryin to catch the few bucks, the big boys didn't clutch. We use the tweezers for crutch, when we done burned down the dutch, but when they Starsky & Hutch, we just shit out of luck.