(from the rockso (urban calypso)/hip hop album, "Farewell to the Flesh")
You hafta watch your step in these streets we roam
'Cuz one word from your lips could shatter your nose bone
Sharp dons can spot cops who's on patrol
Lookin' for potential johns of hoes on the stroll
And if you think a few g's ain't worth your soul
Cats for that kinda cheese'll take out whole area codes
And when clips unload, the body count is totalled
And the only survivors are the lifers down in Riker's
This strife with us, rife with just hatred for ourselves
This hell incitin' the wrong man's delight don't sit right with us
The sun is shining, the streets are cooking
Kids are playing while the bookies are booking and hookers are hooking
The goal is to see the rays of another day
But when you're borrowing time, you must ensure that crime does pay
How can we make something when we ain't have nothing?
So our political sound bites is the sound of rounds busting
The town's bustling with news
top cityline story
Paper's rustling -- new crews on the block out for glory
Overseas immigrants
So more gunplay is immenent
So the do-or-die stance remains part-decadent, part militant
We have to find means to trump the New World Order
We have to find means to trump the New World Order
We have to find means to trump the New World Order
That return to our African glory seems so distant
But let's figure out a plan
We're not just n*ggers in this land ...
(C) 2005 Black Dragon Music.
All Rights Reserved.
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