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(Intro: sample (Inspectah Deck)) |
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Looking on various street corners |
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I'm sure you've seen it yourself |
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Standing on the corner, is an alleged brother |
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Dressed in blue, or green, red and black |
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And, starting the news, that the revolution is coming |
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And you better get ready, sort of like (I feel you son) |
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The end of the world is coming, unfortunetly (I got you, though) |
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The world is just gonna drag on and on (I know how it is) |
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And we have a poem that we've written particularly (I said I know how it is) |
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For the brothers on the street corners |
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(Inspectah Deck) |
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When the revolution come, you can see me on the front line |
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Firing my gun, standing right beside my son |
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If I go, it's understood that I stood for something |
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When my whole life, they told me, I was good for nothing |
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I was raised by the stray dogs, blazed off, layed off |
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Breaking laws, graveyard shifting every day war |
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Focus now, notice how, things change, soldier |
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I remain the same, I'm older now, I embrace the pain |
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I blame the struggle, nearly drove me insane |
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Thought I lost my head, til my brethren told me the same |
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No tears for the reaper, I've buried bout a thousand |
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In graffiti, "rest in peace" sprayed off throughout the housing |
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I tried to stay civilized, the hood's a prison inside |
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The only difference is the doors don't slide |
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Still we trapped in the animal cage, cuz we got animal ways |
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So we react, with the animal rage |
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And my sex is real, weapons peel, cheddar's the deal |
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Seen the depths of hell, now I stare, death in the grill |
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From the slave ships, to today's bricks, same shit |
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I'm awake, to the wickedness, and one, with the pavement |
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(Masta Killa) |
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The all great mind stays divine, my hands remain deadly |
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We shine without the hung jewelry, produce light |
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That'll travel through mics, now as the time riping |
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We took words that we nourishing, encouriging |
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A nation to awaken, those who were sleeping |
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Can you conceive the thought? Transatlantic import |
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Slave and bought, cheaper relations between blacks & jews |
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Might set a fuse off in the head, many dead |
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Lynch hung, swung from trees |
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Brothers in the struggle together, eat from one pot |
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Hold each other down to the sneaker, nothing come between us |
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Fast money and chicks, did it to the best of flicks |
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It's sickening... huh |
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(Chorus 2X: Masta Killa) |
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It's me and you son, forever in the struggle |
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No doubt, we hustle, survival is the motto |
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Will you soon follow, a better tomorrow... for a better tomorrow |
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(GZA) |
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I catch a few flashbacks about, going through the struggle |
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How we used to make dollars, from all the snow we shoveled |
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In a broke neighborhood, where the kids often dream |
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About a laverage life, that is mostly seen in the screen |
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Where some dreams are quickly cut short, due to gang violence |
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From loud guns, that kept witnesses, in deep silence |
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Was it bad timing, jealousy from too much shining? |
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Or a set up, from a girl that he wined, kept dining |
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It's a known fact, they will attack, cuz it's like that |
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And depending on the, kind of impact, that strike back |
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In a town where the talk is cheap and, beef is brief |
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A mother sobs uncontrollably, and exhibit the grief |
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Large holes in the front door, of a housing tenement |
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Allows room to retaliate, so conflict is imminent |
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This hate in the brain, destroys the cells like cancer |
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Even experts are stuck with more questions than answers |
