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Immortal Technique - Parole (Evil Genius mix) |
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Intro: Immortal Technique (parole officer) |
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(980505A) Yeah nigga what |
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(You made parole) What? |
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(Pack your stuff) The fuck? |
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(And get the fuck out of here) A-haha |
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Aiyyo man, it's about motherfuckin time man |
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Aiyyo G, aiyyo G son, I got my papers man |
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I'm out this motherfucker! |
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Immortal Technique: |
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Yeah, I'm out of jail, and I'm never going back again |
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Never selling heroin, never selling crack again |
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Don't work for the government coke packagin |
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Don't fire indiscriminate, with the mac again |
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My people are stuck behind glass like a mannequin |
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They pretend to give a fuck, just like the Vatican |
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Second chance, faith based, two-faced Samaritans |
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Every time we come back, they... {record rewinds} |
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I'm out of jail, and I'm never going back again |
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Never selling heroin, never selling crack again |
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I'm out of jail, and I'm never going back again |
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I'm out of, I'm out of (I'm out this motherfucker!) |
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Yeah, I'm out of jail, and I'm never going back again |
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Never selling heroin, never selling crack again |
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Don't work for the government coke packagin |
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Don't fire indiscriminate, with the mac again |
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My people are stuck behind glass like a mannequin |
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They pretend to give a fuck, just like the Vatican |
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Second chance, faith based, two-faced Samaritans |
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Every time we come back, they keep on cashin in |
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Prison labor, third-world sweatshop comparisons |
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'til we kidnap the whole fuckin garrison |
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Yeah, poverty, makes people do, reckless things |
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But corporations do worse to protect they bling |
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Prisons are more, overcrowded than the rap game |
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They say you more likely to go to jail with a black name |
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Freakonomics that I speak through ebonics |
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and fuck Phonics, little niggaz is (Hooked On) chronic |
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But if you on stage with the DEA, as your hype man |
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Don't get yourself locked up, and blame the white man |
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We transformed gangs and criminal enterprises |
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Usin O.G.'s as advisors |
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Before they, send us to war, after they divide us |
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But I won't let 'em use us like Teddy Roosevelt's Rough Riders |
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My movement's like a jujitsu kata |
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I graduated outta prison, so FUCK my alma mater nigga |
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Interlude: Immortal Technique (woman) |
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(Hello?) Yeah yeah, what's up yo? |
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(Hey, how you doin?) Yo, you know what? |
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I just got my papers (you're fuckin lying!) |
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Yo I'm comin home to you, I'll see you in like a day and a half |
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({scratches} Oh my God, I'm so happy! Are you serious?) |
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({scratches} I'm so happy! Are you fuckin serious?) |
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Yeah, I'm dead serious baby, I'm comin home (oh my God!) |
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Put the little blue thing on for me, aight? |
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(You got that baby, yeah!) |
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Immortal Technique: |
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I'm on parole, and I'll never be alone again |
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Fuck this place baby, I'm comin home again |
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Shorty wrapped around me so I'll, never be cold again |
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Never have to knock a nigga out, for the phone again |
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Prison ain't the place that you find your rite of passage in |
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It's slavery, with nasty food in your abdomen |
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Middle passage, bottom of the ship, how they pack 'em in |
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Perpetrators on some fake shit, sweeter than saccharin |
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Jailhouse snitches without corroborating evidence |
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Niggaz sellin niggaz out for true to be, Benjamins |
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But now I'm free, hit the block, eatin Entenmann's |
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Benihana in and out, flow to eat to enter in |
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Newspaper pencillin, tryin to pay the rent again |
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Ex-con job interview, nobody answerin |
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Feelin violent from the frustation I got pent up in |
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But not tryin to go back to the place, I was sent up in |
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Turn my own life around, fuck the establishment |
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Listenin to hip-hop like "Where the fuck the talent went?" |
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How the fuck did you replace, lyrics with your swaggerin? |
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I'ma fix that, rhymin on with the mag-a-num |
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I roll up in a caravan, full of North Africans |
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My squad got, more soldier niggaz than the Saracens |
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Cause just watch (watch!) when the terrorists attack again |
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Their reaction's gonna be draft 'em and send us back again |
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{scratches} |
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I'm on parole, and I'll never be alone again |
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Fuck this place baby, I'm comin home again |
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Shorty wrapped around me so I'll, never be cold again |
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Never have to knock a nigga out, for the phone again |
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Prison ain't the place that you find your rite of passage in |
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It's slavery, with nasty food in your abdomen |
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Middle passage, bottom of the ship, how they pack 'em in |
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Perpetrators on some fake shit, sweeter than saccharin |
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I'm on parole |
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End |
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Immortal Technique - Parole (Evil Genius mix) |
