American rapper Jackman Thomas Harlow has just unlocked a new song he labeled “Common Ground”.
“Common Ground,” the introduction to Jack Harlow’s third full-length studio album, Jackman., Harlow is seen rapping about the divide and arrogance between white-suburban children and black children raised in poorer neighborhoods, where each’s paths eventually cross.
The evident use of the string instruments and snares in the song’s background supports the build-up to Jack’s eventual raspy flow and voice in which he raps about the misuse of the N-word in suburbs. Furthermore, Jack depicts an ironic story of suburban children with financial support from another end up reporting on urban nature.
In conclusion,the song was produced by
Angel López, Jay-Soul, Mike Wavvs & Niko The Great and was officially released on April 28, 2023.
Listen and share your thoughts below!
Jack Harlow – Common Ground Lyrics
Will I see you?
Just talkin’ ’bout what I see
It’s not opinion based, it’s just, just shit I see (Uh)
The suburbs are filled with ebonics and trap sonics
Frat boys sayin’, “No cap, put racks on it”
The dialect got a lil’ splash of some black on it
Cap and gowns bought by the money in dad’s pockets
White girls squattin’ tryna get that ass poppin’
Caught back-talkin’ to their mom and dads often
Recitin’ rap lyrics about murder and cash profit
Get to feel like a thug but don’t have to act on it
Local homicide rates got ’em astonished
Readin’ ’bout it on a laptop and pajamas
Microsoft Office to complete their assignments
Never seen the hood, still can’t help, but have comments
Never had a convo’ with a kid from that climate
That really has trauma, that really got taught to survive by any means
Fuck bitches, stack commas
Common ground, ain’t that common
The festivals are filled with Larry Bird jerseys
College students in a hurry to jump to a four-count and say the, “N” word
Business interns takin’ Molly, then Percs
Tramplin’ on top of bodies in dirt
Condesendin’ suburban kids growin’ up to be rap journalists
Writin’ urban myths about who they think is the best urban kid, and who the worst is
And who’s authentic
And what the real Hip-Hop is, and who’s all in it
Thrift shoppin’ for articles and garments that feel like they came from a foreign environment
Second-hand Bape, Supreme, and Gallery Department
Anything to feel less harmless
Adderall dealers carryin’ ’round guns just to make it feel realer
House with white pillars
No rough, just diamonds
The education private, it’s all by design
And, common ground, ain’t that common (Let me hear that)
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