Lyrics

8. Amadou
(B. Satter, D. Williams)

Verse 1

Well the shot 41 at Amadou Diallo
Let me show what I’mma do tot the police tomorrow
Well they wanted me to follow the footsteps of Diallo
Cept they filled me up with hollow point bullets
So that every time they pull the trigger they figure they kill another nigger
Yo the cops they got me in a dead drop
Pump 50 bullets inside my chest til my head drop
I grab the magazine and then I watch the lead drop out
Another bullet-riddled anthem of hip hop
Yo some think the swine benign but they malignant to the pigmentation
Never find yourself caught up in a police station
Or they’ll ream ya like you Abner Louima
With the broomstick handle like the torch to the candle
Yo if you wanna know the killa then ask Tyesha Miller
With 21 they filled her her destiny is unfulfilled though
Cuz it’s cut short, cut down, no need to ask Joe Brown
And they wonder why LA is burning down…

Chorus

Hey COPs, Hey COPs, watchu gon do? What you gon do when we come for you?
Hey COPs, Hey COPs, watchu gon do? What you gon do when we come Amadou?
Hey COPs, Hey COPs, watchu gon do? What you gon do when we come for you?
Hey COPs, Hey COPs, watchu gon do? What you gon do when we come Amadou?

Verse

I’m spittin fire verses, with a higher purpose, on these accursed cops I lurches,
With verbs scorchin through your cute blue uniforms, I unibomb,
With words more true to life than true to form,
It’s violent how I word the truth in song,
I’m spittin , illin, while you steady slippin on the blood you spillin,
Of the many young Black men you killin,
We haven’t seen such savagery since Guliani turned NY into a police state,
From NY to Johannesburg killers is still Jakes,
Government is still fake, politicians still rape, the mind of our youth is at stake,
Police brutality ain’t nothing new,
the Klu Klux Klan just changed colors from white to blue,
and they still fightin you, and you thought Malcolm was radical,
It’s not just racist it’s evil,
It’s these crooked cops that’s lethal, not the weapons,
Every year the situation worsens,
They don’t need sheets and burnin crosses to lynch you,
They don’t just hang you, now they shoot you,
1 by 1, 41 shots from a gun, remove you, bruise and abuse you,
brother just chillen on his porch got wasted,
later, verdict on the cops who did it- ACQUITTED,
Fuck angry I’m livid, determined to rip on the wicked,
To let my rage blaze on for Diallo’s spirit reborn in song,
41 shots? Let 41,000 cops feel it,
41 truths revealed on <<<<< hear it
for each bullet account for 1 prison sentence,
1 count of murder in cold blood, manslaughter, and so forth,
that’s 41 loopholes in the justice system,
41 civil rights infringements,
41 years our struggles been set back,
41 tear stains on a sweat rag,
but there’s more than 41 ways to get back,
There’s more than 41 days to dead that,
Don’t fortget that!

Chorus

Hey COPs, Hey COPs, watchu gon do? What you gon do when we come for you?
Hey COPs, Hey COPs, watchu gon do? What you gon do when we come Amadou?
Hey COPs, Hey COPs, watchu gon do? What you gon do when we come for you?
Hey COPs, Hey COPs, watchu gon do? What you gon do when we come Amadou?

Outro

How many bullets? 41

Count em down

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26,27,28,29,30,31,32,
33,34,35,36,37,38,39,40,41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Written by Bojah and Natural Bliss
Co-Produced by Bojah and Christian Kennedy
Recorded at Ai in Brookline, MA, ????? in Philadelphia, PA, the Icebox in Somerville, MA, and CYT Productions in Jamaica Plains, MA
Mixed by Christian Kennedy at CYT Productions in Jamaica Plains, MA

Vocals and Guitar- Bojah
Background vocals- Tahanee Shabbazz and Laia Shabbazz
MC- Natural Bliss
Lead Guitar- Jeff Lockhart
Rhodes – Matt Little
Organ and additional keys- Christian Kennedy
Drum programming- Christian Kennedy
Drums- Nikki Glaspie
Percussion- Paula Green
Bass- Aaron Bellamy

Of course written in response to the fight against police brutality, the murder of Amadou Diallo, and subsequently Sean Bell, by NYC police, firing 41 and 50 bullets respectively both at unarmed Black men. The original lyrics to this song I wrote when I was living in New Jersey at the time of the incident. I went to the protest out in the Bronx in front of Diallo’s house the next day. The first time we did this joint in NYC was in Central Park and I remember this sista throw her fist up and start getting Durty Souf wit it. I knew we were doin something right. When I read the Village Voice refer to it as “anti-cop rhetoric” I was sure we were doing something right. We did perform this on the anniversary of Diallo’s death in the presence of his father. We had to improvise as there was no drum set available so Paula, the percussionist, was bangin on a garbage can. Even though the city did settle a million dollar civil suit in Diallo’s favor, the four officers who murdered him never spent a day in jail and are now walking scott free. The struggle around Sean Bell remains: 50 shots, Jail the cops!

=======BOJAH