|
Well you better step to any shit we're feedin' ya, |
|
'cause you know we ain't needin' ya. Expendable? |
|
You're about to get it. |
|
(Don't fall too deep down, don't fall) |
|
I'm coming back, coming back |
|
from the funky funky bass stack |
|
what you see is what you get |
|
and all I know is what I jack |
|
shake your money maker, |
|
shake your money maker maker now |
|
give me a couple of minutes |
|
and I'll show you all exactly how |
|
Soon there won't be no money to make, |
|
no lies to fake. |
|
If you can't set it straight |
|
well then you can't relate |
|
the lies you swallow |
|
to rules you follow |
|
the words so hollow |
|
so see you tomorrow |
|
full of sorrow. |
|
You're gonna say how did it ever get this far |
|
when all I ever wanted was a house and a car. |
|
Now Moma's in the backroom serving up rocks, |
|
Daddy's in Wandsworth sitting in a box. |
|
3.1 |
|
Listen to the click of the steel as it locks. |
|
The real enemies are in the corporate office blocks. |
|
so 1 2, 3 to 2, 3 to 2, 1 |
|
the wheels are set in motion and the job's getting done. |
|
Time to make the switch, make a switch y'all |
|
So step to me when it hits ya |
|
Time to make the switch, make a switch y'all |
|
Come to put ya in the picture |
|
Time to make the switch, make a switch y'all |
|
So step to me when it hits ya |
|
Time to make the switch, make a switch y'all |
|
Come to put ya in the picture now. |
|
Breaking 'em, breaking 'em down |
|
breaking our people down. |
| [[3.2] |
Our leader's a clown, |
|
he's trying to swim but he's gonna drown |
|
so hear the sound. |
|
Time to disarm, |
|
this ain't no false alarm doing harm. |
|
guns dance into a death-trance |
|
like a snake charm. |
|
One after another they stand on the corner |
|
but I won't pack a gat just like that |
|
'cause I don't wanna |
|
be part of the problem, |
|
think the solution, words of revolution |
|
to me are still sonic pollution. |
|
Tried to make me out to be |
|
something I never was |
|
never would be because |
|
reality over us |
|
hangs like a black cloud, sickens, |
|
and when you stare for a second you're stricken |
|
you cry man, the signs are simple and plain |
|
so play it again |
|
drifting in the last domain. |
|
When all the gun-talk shit |
|
that you wrote it don't float |
|
it sinks to the bottom like a fucked up boat. |
|
And me and my posse we got a spirit |
|
and no soft puppet can ever put a limit in it |
|
So 1 2, 3 to 2, 3 to 2, 1 |
|
The wheels are still in motion and the job's getting done. |
|
Pump, pump it up, y'all |
