Mortal Man Lyrics was released on March 15, 2015, from the Album ‘To Pimp a Butterfly’. The song was sung by Kendrick Lamar. Mortal Man Song Lyrics are penned by Kendrick Lamar, Sounwave, Thundercat, and Fela Kuti. The song labels are TDE, Aftermath, and Interscope. While the song was produced by Sounwave.
Song Credits:
| Released | March 15, 2015 |
| Album | To Pimp a Butterfly |
| Singer | Kendrick Lamar |
| Songwriter(s) | Kendrick Lamar, Sounwave, Thundercat & Fela Kuti |
| Producer(s) | Sounwave |
| Label | TDE, Aftermath, Interscope |
Mortal Man Lyrics:
Oh, oh, woah
Uh, yeah
Uh, yeah
Uh
Yeah, uh
The ghost of Mandela, hope my flows stay propellin’
Let these words be your Earth and moon, you consume every message
As I lead this army, make room for mistakes and depression
And with that being said, my nigga, let me ask this question:
When shit hit the fan, is you still a fan?
When shit hit the fan—
(One two, one two, one two)
When shit hit the fan, is you still a fan?
When shit hit the fan, is you still a fan?
The ghost of Mandela, hope my flows stay propellin’
Let these words be your Earth and moon, you consume every message
As I lead this army, make room for mistakes and depression
And with that being said, my nigga, let me ask this question:
When shit hit the fan, is you still a fan?
When shit hit the fan, is you still a fan?
Won’t you look to your left and right? Make sure you ask your friends
When shit hit the fan, is you still a fan?
Do you believe in me? Are you deceiving me?
Could I let you down easily, is your heart where it need to be?
Is your smile on permanent? Is your vow on lifetime?
Would you know where the sermon is if I died in this next line?
If I’m tried in a court of law, if the industry cut me off
If the government want me dead, plant cocaine in my car
Would you judge me a drug-head or see me as K. Lamar?
Or question my character and degrade me on every blog?
Want you to love me like Nelson, want you to hug me like Nelson
I freed you from being a slave in your mind, you’re very welcome
You tell me my song is more than a song, it’s surely a blessing
But a prophet ain’t a prophet ’til they ask you this question:
When shit hit the fan, is you still a fan?
When shit hit the fan, is you still a fan?
Won’t you look to your left and right? Make sure you ask your friends
When shit hit the fan, is you still a fan?
The ghost of Mandela, hope my flows stay propellin’
Let my words be your Earth and moon, you consume every message
As I lead this army, make room for mistakes and depression
And with that—
Do you believe in me? How much you believe in her?
You think she gon’ stick around if them 25 years occur?
You think he can hold you down when you down behind bars, hurt?
You think y’all on common ground if you promise to be the first?
Can you be immortalized without your life being expired?
Even though you share the same blood, is it worth the time?
Like, who got your best interest?
Like, how much are you dependent?
How clutch are the people that say they love you?
And who pretending?
How tough is your skin when they turn you in?
Do you show forgiveness?
What brush do you bend when dusting your shoulders from being offended?
What kind of den did they put you in when the lions start hissing?
What kind of bridge did they burn?
Revenge on your mind when it’s mentioned
You wanna love like Nelson, you wanna be like Nelson
You wanna walk in his shoes, but your peacemaking seldom
You wanna be remembered that delivered the message
That considered the blessing of everyone
This your lesson for everyone, say;
When shit hit the fan, is you still a fan?
When shit hit the fan, is you still a fan?
Won’t you look to your left and right? Make sure you ask your friends
When shit hit the fan, is you still a fan?
The voice of Mandela, hope this flow stay propellin’
Let my word be your Earth and moon, you consume every message
As I lead this army, make room for mistakes and depression
And if you riding with me, nigga—
I been wrote off before, I got abandonment issues
I hold grudges like bad judges, don’t let me resent you
That’s not Nelson-like—want you to love me like Nelson
I went to Robben’s Island analysing; that’s where his cell is
So I could find clarity—like, how much you cherish me?
Is this relationship a fake, or real as the heavens be?
See I got to question it all; family, friends, fans, cats, dogs
Trees, plants, grass, how the wind blow, Murphy’s Law
Generation X—will I ever be your ex?
Flaws of a baby step’, mauled by the mouth of Pit bulls
Put me under stress, crawled under rocks, duckin’ y’all
It’s respect—but then tomorrow, put my back against the wall
How many leaders you said you needed then left ’em for dead?
Is it Moses? Is it Huey Newton or Detroit Red?
Is it Martin Luther? JFK? Shooter—you assassin
Is it Jackie? Is it Jesse? Oh, I know it’s Michael Jackson—oh
When shit hit the fan, is you still a fan?
When shit hit the fan, is you still a fan?
That nigga gave us “Billie Jean,” you say he touched those kids?
When shit hit the fan, is you still a fan?
The ghost of Mandela, hope my flows stay propelling
Let my word be your Earth and moon, you consume every message
As I lead this army, make room for mistakes and depression
And if you riding with me, nigga, let me ask this question, nigga
“I remember you was conflicted
Misusing your influence
Sometimes I did the same
Abusing my power, full of resentment
Resentment that turned into a deep depression
Found myself screaming in the hotel room
I didn’t wanna self destruct
The evils of Lucy was all around me
So I went running for answers
Until I came home
But that didn’t stop survivor’s guilt
Going back and forth trying to convince myself the stripes I earned
Or maybe how A-1 my foundation was
But while my loved ones was fighting the continuous war back in the city
I was entering a new one
A war that was based on apartheid and discrimination
Made me wanna go back to the city and tell the homies what I learned
The word was respect
Just because you wore a different gang color than mine’s
Doesn’t mean I can’t respect you as a black man
Forgetting all the pain and hurt we caused each other in these streets
If I respect you, we unify and stop the enemy from killing us
But I don’t know, I’m no mortal man
Maybe I’m just another nigga”
Shit and that’s all I wrote
I was gonna call it “Another Nigga” but, it ain’t really a poem
I just felt like it’s something you probably could relate to
Other than that, now that I finally got a chance to holla at you
I always wanted to ask you about a certain situa-
About a metaphor actually, uh, you spoke on the ground
What you mean by that, what the ground represent?
The ground is gonna open up and swallow the evil
Right
That’s how I see it, my word is bond
I see—and the ground is the symbol for the poor people
Right
The poor people is gonna open up this whole world
And swallow up the rich people
‘Cause the rich people gonna be so fat
And they gonna be so appetizing, you know what I’m saying Wealthy, appetizing
The poor gonna be so poor, and hungry
Right
You know what I’m saying, it’s gonna be like
You know what I’m saying, it’s gonna be
There might, there might be some cannibalism out this muh-fu-
They might eat the rich, you know what I’m saying?
Aight so let me ask you this then
Do you see yourself as somebody that’s rich
Or somebody that made the best of they own opportunities?
I see myself as a natural born hustler
A true hustler in every sense of the word
I took nothin’, I took the opportunities
I worked at the most menial and degrading job
And built myself up so I could get it to where I owned it
I went from having somebody managing me
To me hiring the person that works my management company
I changed everything, I realized my destiny
In a matter of five years, you know what I’m saying?
I made myself a millionaire, I made millions for a lot of people
Now it’s time to make millions for myself, you know what I’m saying?
I made millions for the record companies
I made millions for these movie companies
Now I make millions for, for us
And through your different avenues of success
How would you say you managed to keep a level of sanity?
By my faith in God, by my faith in the game
And by my faith in “all good things come to those that stay true”
Right
You know what I’m saying?
And it was happening to me for a reason
You know what I’m saying, I was noticing, shit
I was punching the right buttons and it was happening
So it’s no problem, you know
I mean, it’s a problem but I’m not finna let them know
I’m finna go straight through
Would you consider yourself a fighter at heart or somebody that
Somebody that only reacts when they back is against the wall?
Shit, I like to think that at every opportunity I’ve ever been,
Uh Threatened with resistance, it’s been met with resistance
And not only me but, it goes down my family tree
You know what I’m saying, it’s in my veins to fight back
Aight well, how long will you think it take before niggas be like
“We fighting a war, I’m fighting a war I can’t win
And I wanna lay it all down”
In this country, a black man only have like
Five years we can exhibit maximum strength
And that’s right now while you a teenager, while you still strong
While you still wanna lift weights, while you still wanna shoot back
‘Cause once you turn thirty it’s like
They take the heart and soul out of a man
Out of a black man, in this country
And you don’t wanna fight no more
And if you don’t believe me, you can look around
You don’t see no loud mouth thirty-year old motherfuckers
That’s crazy, because me being one of your offsprings
Of the legacy you left behind, I can truly tell you that
There’s nothing but turmoil goin’ on so, I wanted to ask you
What you think is the future for me and my generation today?
I think that niggas is tired of grabbin’ shit out the stores
And next time it’s a riot it’s gonna be like, uh, bloodshed
For real, I don’t think America know that
I think America think we was just playing
And it’s gonna be some more playing but
It ain’t gonna be no playing
It’s gonna be murder, you know what I’m saying?
It’s gonna be like Nat Turner, 1831, up in this motherfucker
You know what I’m saying, it’s gonna happen
That’s crazy, man, in my opinion
Only hope that we kinda have left is music and vibrations
Lot a people don’t understand how important it is, you know
Sometimes I can like, get behind a mic
And I don’t know what type of energy I’ma push out
Or where it comes from, trip me out sometimes
Because it’s spirits, we ain’t even really rappin’
We just letting our dead homies tell stories for us
Damn
I wanted to read one last thing to you
It’s actually something a good friend had wrote
Describing my world, it says:
“The caterpillar is a prisoner to the streets that conceived it
Its only job is to eat or consume everything around it
In order to protect itself from this mad city
While consuming its environment
The caterpillar begins to notice ways to survive
One thing it noticed is how much the world shuns him
But praises the butterfly
The butterfly represents the talent, the thoughtfulness
And the beauty within the caterpillar
But having a harsh outlook on life
The caterpillar sees the butterfly as weak
And figures out a way to pimp it to his own benefits
Already surrounded by this mad city
The caterpillar goes to work on the cocoon
Which institutionalizes him
He can no longer see past his own thoughts
He’s trapped
When trapped inside these walls certain ideas take root, such as
Going home, and bringing back new concepts to this mad city
The result?
Wings begin to emerge, breaking the cycle of feeling stagnant
Finally free, the butterfly sheds light on situations
That the caterpillar never considered, ending the internal struggle
Although the butterfly and caterpillar are completely different
They are one and the same”
What’s your perspective on that?
Pac? Pac? Pac?!