{"train": ["Killing in the name of\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nUh!\nKilling in the name of\nKilling in the name of\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nBut now you do what they told ya!\nWell, now you do what they told ya\nThose who died are justified\nFor wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nYou justify those that died\nBy wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nThose who died are justified\nFor wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nYou justify those that died\nBy wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nUh!\nKilling in the name of\nKilling in the name of\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\n And now you do what they told ya\n And now you do what they told ya\n And now you do what they told ya\n And now you do what they told ya\n And now you do what they told ya\n And now you do what they told ya\n And now you do what they told ya\nThose who died are justified\nFor wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nYou justify those that died\nBy wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nThose who died are justified\nFor wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nYou justify those that died\nBy wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nCome on!\nUgh!\nYeah!\nCome on!\nUgh!\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nMotherfucker!\nUgh!", "Come wit it now\nCome wit it now\nThe microphone explodes, shattering the mold\nEither drop the hits like de la O or get the fuck off the commode\nWith the sure shot, sure to make the bodies drop\nDrop and dont copy, yo, dont call this a co-op\nTerror rains drenchin, quenchin the thirst\nOf the power dons, that five-sided Fistagon\nThe rotten sore on the face of Mother Earth gets bigger\nThe trigger’s cold, empty your purse\nRally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nWeapons, not food, not homes, not shoes\nNot need, just feed the war, cannibal animal\nI walk the corner to the rubble, that used to be a library\nLine up to the mind cemetery now\nWhat we dont know keeps the contracts alive and movin\nThey dont gotta burn the books, they just remove em\nWhile arms warehouses fill as quick as the cells\nRally round the family, pockets full of shells\nRally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nBulls on parade, uh\nCome wit it now\nCome wit it now\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade", "Come on\nUgh\nCome on\nAlthough ya try to discredit, ya still never read it\nThe needle, Ill thread it, radically poetic\nStandin with the fury that they had in 66\nAnd like E-Double Im Mad, still knee deep in the systems shit\nHoover, he was a body remover\nIll give you a dose but itll never come close\nTo the rage built up inside of me\nFist in the air in the land of hypocrisy\nMovements come and movements go\nLeaders speak, movements cease when their heads are flown\nCause all these punks got bullets in their heads\nDepartments of police, the judges , the feds\nNetworks at work, keeping people calm\nYou know they went after King when he spoke out on Vietnam\nHe turned the power to the have-nots\nAnd then came the shot\nYeah\nYeah, back in this\nWith poetry my mind I flex\nFlip like Wilson, vocals never lackin that finesse\nWhat do I got to, what do I got to do to wake you up?\nTo shake you up, to break the structure up?\nCause blood still flows in the gutter\nIm like taking photos, mad boy kicks open the shutter\nSet the groove, then stick and move like I was Cassius\nRep the Stutter Step then bomb a left upon the fascists\nYeah, several federal men\nWho pulled schemes on the dream and put it to an end\nYou better beware of retribution with mind war\n20/20 visions and murals with metaphors\nNetworks at work, keepin people calm\nYa know they murdered X and tried to blame it on Islam\nHe turned the power to the have-nots\nAnd then came the shot\nWhat was the price on his head?\nWhat was the price on his head!?\nI think I heard a shot\nI think I heard a shot\nI think I heard a shot\nI think I heard a shot\nI think I heard a shot\nI think I heard\nI think I heard a shot\nBlack Nationalism... \n may be a brave contender for this position\nBut should he abandon his supposed obedience\nTo the White liberal doctrine of non-violence\nAnd embrace Black Nationalism\nThrough counter-intelligence, it should be possible\nTo pinpoint potential troublemakers and neutralize them\nThrough counter-intelligence, it should be possible\nTo pinpoint potential troublemakers and neutralize them\nAnd neutralize them, and neutralize them\nAnd neutralize them, and neutralize them\nAnd neutralize them\nWake up\nWake up\nWake up\nWake up\nWake up\nWake up\nWake up\nWake up\nHow long? Not long\nCause what you reap is what you sow", "Huh\nYeah, were comin back in with another bombtrack\nThink ya know its all of that, huh\nAyo, so check this out, yeah\nKnow your enemy\nCome on\nBorn with insight and a raised fist\nA witness to the slit wrist\nAs we move into 92\nStill in a room without a view\nYa got to know, ya got to know\nThat when I say go, go, go\nAmp up and amplify, defy\nIm a brother with a furious mind\nAction must be taken\nWe dont need the key, well break in\nSomething must be done\nAbout vengeance, a badge and a gun\nCause Ill rip the mic, rip the stage, rip the system\nI was born to rage against em\nFist in ya face in the place and Ill drop the style clearly\nKnow your enemy\nKnow your enemy\nYeah\nAyo, get with this, ugh\nWord is born\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nNow I got no patience\nSo sick of complacence\nWith the D, the E, the F, the I, the A, the N, the C, the E\nMind of a revolutionary, so clear the lane\nThe finger to the land of the chains\nWhat? The land of the free?\nWhoever told you that is your enemy\nNow something must be done\nAbout vengeance, a badge, and a gun\nCause Ill rip the mic, rip the stage, rip the system\nI was born to rage against em\nNow action must be taken\nWe dont need the key, well break in\nIve got no patience now\nSo sick of complacence now\nIve got no patience now\nSo sick of complacence now\nSick of, sick of, sick of, sick of you\nTime has come to pay\nKnow your enemy\nCome on\nYes, I know my enemies\nTheyre the teachers who taught me to fight me\nCompromise, conformity\nAssimilation, submission\nIgnorance, hypocrisy\nBrutality, the elite\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams", "Transmission, third World War, third round\nA decade of the weapon of sound above ground\nNo shelter if youre looking for shade\nI lick shots at the brutal charade\nAs the polls close like a casket\nOn truth devoured, silent play on the shadow of power\nA spectacle, monopolized\nThe cameras eyes on choice disguised\nWas it cast for the mass who burn and toil?\nOr for the vultures who thirst for blood and oil?\nYes a spectacle, monopolized\nThey hold the reins, stole your eyes\nAll the Fistagons, the bullets and bombs\nWho stuff the banks, who staff the party ranks\nMore for Gore or the son of a drug lord\nNone of the above, fuck it, cut the cord!\nLights out, guerrilla radio\nTurn that shit up\nLights out, guerrilla radio\nTurn that shit up\nLights out, guerrilla radio\nTurn that shit up\nLights out, guerrilla radio\nContact, I hijacked the frequencies\nBlockin the beltway, move on DC\nWay past the days of bombin MCs\nSound off, Mumia, go on, be free\nWho got em? Yo, check the federal file\nAll you pen devils know the trial was vile\nArmy of pigs try to silence my style\nOff em all out the box, its my radio dial\nLights out, guerrilla radio\nTurn that shit up\nLights out, guerrilla radio\nTurn that shit up\nLights out, guerrilla radio\nTurn that shit up\nLights out, guerrilla radio\nTurn that shit up\nIt has to start somewhere\nIt has to start sometime\nWhat better place than here?\nWhat better time than now?\nAll hell cant stop us now\nAll hell cant stop us now\nAll hell cant stop us now\nAll hell cant stop us now\nAll hell cant stop us now\nAll hell cant stop us now", "Yeah\nThe world is my expense\nThe cost of my desire\nJesus blessed me with its future\nAnd I protect it with fire\nSo raise your fists and march around\nJust dont take what you need\nIll jail and bury those committed\nAnd smother the rest in greed\nCrawl with me into tomorrow\nOr Ill drag you to your grave\nIm deep inside your children\nTheyll betray you in my name\nHey, hey\nSleep now in the fire\nHey, hey\nSleep now in the fire\nThe lie is my expense\nThe scope of my desire\nThe party blessed me with its future\nAnd I protect it with fire\nI am the Niña, the Pinta, the Santa Maria\nThe noose and the rapist, the fields overseer\nThe agents of orange, the priests of Hiroshima\nThe cost of my desire\nSleep now in the fire\nHey, hey\nSleep now in the fire\nHey, hey, hey\nSleep now in the fire\nFor its the end of history\nIts caged and frozen still\nThere is no other pill to take\nSo swallow the one that makes you ill\nThe Niña, the Pinta, the Santa Maria\nThe noose and the rapist, the fields overseer\nThe agents of orange, the priests of Hiroshima\nThe cost of my desire\nSleep now in the fire\nYeah\nSleep now in the fire\nSleep now in the fire\nSleep now in the fire\nSleep now in the fire", "This time the bullet cold rocked ya\nA yellow ribbon instead of a swastika\nNothin proper about ya propaganda\nFools follow rules when the set commands ya\nSaid it was blue, when ya blood was red\nThats how ya got a bullet blasted through ya head\nBlasted through ya head, blasted through ya head\nI give a shout out to the living dead\nWho stood and watched as the feds cold centralized\nSo serene on the screen, you was mesmerized\nCellular phones, soundin a death tone\nCorporations cold turn ya to stone before ya realize\nThey load the clip in, omnicolor\nSaid they pack the nine, they fire it at prime time\nThe sleeping gas, every home was like Alcatraz\nAnd mothafuckas lost their minds!\nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say how high? Yeah\nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say how high?\nRun it\nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say how high? Yeah\nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say how high?\nChecka, checka, check it out\nThey load the clip in, omnicolor\nSaid they pack the nine, they fire it at prime time\nThe sleeping gas, every home was like Alcatraz\nAnd mothafuckas lost their minds!\nNo escape from the mass mind rape\nPlay it again, jack, and then rewind the tape\nAnd then play it again, and again, and again\nUntil ya mind is locked in\nBelievin all the lies that theyre tellin ya\nBuyin all the products that theyre sellin ya\nThey say jump and ya say how high?\nYa braindead, ya got a fuckin bullet in ya head\nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say how high, yeah\nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say how high\nUgh\nYeah\nYeah\nFuck\nYa standin in line\nBelievin the lies\nYa bowin down to the flag\nYa got a bullet in ya head\nYa standin in line\nBelievin the lies\nYa bowin down to the flag\nYa got a bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in the head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nYa got a bullet in ya fuckin head\nYeah\nYeah", "Crank the music up\nBring that shit in, uh\nYeah, the movements in motion with massive militant poetry\nNow check this out, uh\nIn the right light, study becomes insight\nBut the system that dissed us, teaches us to read and write\nSo-called facts are fraud\nThey want us to allege and pledge and bow down to their god\nLost the culture, the culture lost\nSpun our minds and through time, ignorance has taken over\nYo, we gotta take the power back\nBam, heres the plan\nMotherfuck Uncle Sam, step back, I know who I am\nRaise up your ear, Ill drop the style and clear\nIts the beats and the lyrics they fear\nThe rage is relentless\nWe need a movement with a quickness\nYou are the witness of change and to counteract\nWe gotta take the power back\nYeah, we gotta take the power back\nCome on, come on\nWe gotta take the power back\nThe present curriculum, I put my fist in em\nEurocentric, every last one of em\nSee right through the red, white, and blue disguise\nWith lecture I puncture the structure of lies\nInstalled in our minds and attempting to hold us back\nWeve got to take it back\nHoles in our spirit causing tears and fears\nOne-sided stories for years and years and years\nIm inferior? Whos inferior?\nYeah, we need to check the interior\nOf the system who cares about only one culture\nAnd that, is why we gotta take the power back\nYeah, we gotta take the power back\nCome on, come on\nWe gotta take the power back\nAyo check, were gonna have to break it\nBreak it, break it down, aw shit\nAnd like this\nUh! Come on\nYeah, bring it back the other way\nUh\nThe teacher stands in front of the class\nBut the lesson plan he cant recall\nThe students eyes dont perceive the lies\nBouncing off every fucking wall\nHis composure is well kept\nI guess he fears playing the fool\nThe complacent students sit\nAnd listen to that bullshit that hed learned in school\nEurope aint my rope to swing on\nCant learn a thing from it, yet we hang from it\n(Gotta get it, gotta get it together then\nLike the motherfuckin Weathermen)\nExpose and close the doors on those who try\nTo strangle and mangle the truth\nCause the circle of hatred continues unless we react\nWe gotta take the power back\nYeah, we gotta take the power back\nCome on, come on\nWe gotta take the power back\nNo more lies\nNo more lies\nNo more lies\nNo more lies\nNo more lies\nNo more lies\nNo more lies\nNo more lies\nUh!\nYeah, take it back, yall\nTake it back, a-take it back, a-take it back, yall\nCome on, take it back, yall\nTake it back, a-take it back, a-take it back, yall\nCome on, uh, yeah", "Uh\nThe movie ran through me\nThe glamour subdue me\nThe tabloid untied me\nIm empty. please fill me\nMister Anchor, assure me\nThat Baghdad is burning\nYour voice, it is so soothing\nThat cunning mantra of killing\nI need you, my witness\nTo dress this up so bloodless\nTo numb me and purge me now\nOf thoughts of blaming you\nYes, the car is our wheelchair\nMy witness, your coughing\nOily silence mocks the legless ones\nWho travel now in coffins\nWhile on the corner \nThe jurys sleepless \nWe found your weakness \nAnd its right outside your door\nNow testify\nNow testify\nIts right outside your door, now testify\nYes, testify\nIts right outside your door\nWith precision you feed me\nMy witness, Im hungry\nYour temple, it calms me, so I can carry on\nMy slaving, sweating the skin right off my bones\nOn a bed of fire, Im choking on the smoke that fills my home\nThe wrecking ball is rushing\nWitness your blushing\nThe pipeline is gushing\nWhile here we lie in tombs\nWhile on the corner \nThe jurys sleepless \nWe found your weakness \nAnd its right outside your door\nNow testify\nYeah, testify\nIts right outside your door\nNow testify\nNow testify\nAnd its right outside your door\nMass graves for the pump when the price is set\nWhen the price is set\nMass graves for the pump when the price is set\nWhen the price is set\nMass graves for the pump when the price is set\nWhen the price is set\nMass graves for the pump when the price is set\nWhen the price is set\nWho controls the past now controls the future\nWho controls the present now controls the past\nWho controls the past now controls the future\nWho controls the present now?\nNow testify\nTestify\nIts right outside your door\nNow testify\nTestify\nIts right outside your door", "Yeah, Im rollin down Rodeo with a shotgun\nThese people aint seen a brown-skinned man\nSince their grandparents bought one\nSo now Im rollin down Rodeo with a shotgun\nThese people aint seen a brown-skinned man\nSince their grandparents bought one\nSo now Im rollin down Rodeo with a shotgun\nBangin this bolo tight, on this solo flight, cant fight alone\nFunk the track, my verbs sly like the Family Stone\nThem pen devils set the stage for the war at home\nLocked without a wage, youre standing in the drop zone\nThe clockers born, starin at an empty plate\nMamas torn hands cover her sunken face\nWe hungry but them belly full\nThe structure is set, ya never change it with a ballot pull\nIn the ruins theres a network for the toxic rock\nSchoolyard to precinct, suburb to project block\nBosses rode south for new flesh and a factory floor\nThe remains left chained to the powder war\nCant waste a day when the night brings a hearse\nSo make a move and plead the fifth cause ya cant plead the first\nCant waste a day when the night brings a hearse\nSo now Im rollin down Rodeo with a shotgun\nThese people aint seen a brown-skinned man\nSince their grandparents bought one\nYes, Im rollin down Rodeo with a shotgun\nThese people aint seen a brown-skinned man\nSince their grandparents bought one\nSo now Im rollin down Rodeo with a shotgun\nYeah\nBear witness to the sickest shot while suckers get romantic\nThey aint gonna send us campin like they did my man Fred Hampton\nStill we lampin, still clockin dirt for our sweat\nA ballots dead, so a bullets what I get\nA thousand years they had the tools, we should be takin em\nFuck the G-ride, I want the machines that are makin em\nOur target straight with a room full of armed pawns\nTo off the Kings on the west side at dawn\nCant waste a day when the night brings a hearse\nMake a move and plead the fifth cause ya cant plead the first\nCant waste a day, when the night brings a hearse\nSo now Im rollin down Rodeo with a shotgun\nThese people aint seen a brown-skinned man\nSince their grandparents bought one\nYeah, Im rollin down Rodeo with a shotgun\nThese people aint seen a brown-skinned man\nSince their grandparents bought one\nYeah, Im rollin down Rodeo with a shotgun\nJust a quiet, peaceful dance\nJust a quiet, peaceful dance\nYeaah\nJust a quiet, peaceful dance\nJust a quiet, peaceful dance\nJust a quiet, peaceful dance\nFor the things well never have\nJust a quiet, peaceful dance\nFor the things we dont have", "Uhh\nAyy, yo, its just another bombtrack, uh\nAyy, yo, its just another bombtrack, yeah\nIt goes a one, two, three\nYeah, and its just another bombtrack\nAnd suckers be thinkin that they can fake this\nBut Ima drop it at a higher level\nCause Im inclined to stoop down, hand out some beatdowns\nCould run a train on punk fools that think they run the game\nBut I learned to burn that bridge and delete\nThose who compete at a level thats obsolete\nInstead, I warm my hands upon the flames of the flag\nTo recall the downfall and the businesses that burnt us all\nSee through the news and the views that twist reality\nEnough, I call the bluff, fuck Manifest Destiny\nLandlords and power whores, on my people, they took turns\nDispute the suits, I ignite and then watch em burn\nWith the thoughts from a militant mind\nHardline, hardline after hardline\nLandlords and power whores, on my people, they took turns\nDispute the suits, I ignite and then watch em burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn \nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nIt goes a one, two, three, another funky, radical bombtrack\nStarted as a sketch in my notebook\nAnd now dope hooks make punks take another look\nMy thoughts ya hear and ya begin to fear\nThat ya card will get pulled if ya interfere\nWith the thoughts from a militant, militant mind\nHardline, hardline after hardline\nLandlords and power whores, on my people, they took turns\nDispute the suits, I ignite and then watch em burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn \nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nHey, yo, its just another bombtrack\nCheck it out\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn \nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn", "Uh\nPump, pump, woo!\nCome on\nUh\nSolo, Im a soloist on a solo list\nAll live, never on a floppy disk\nInka, inka, bottle of ink\nPaintings of rebellion drawn up by the thoughts I think\nYeah\nCome on\nThe militant poet in once again, check it\nIts set up like a deck of cards\nTheyre sendin us to early graves for all the diamonds\nTheyll use a pair of clubs to beat the spades\nWith poetry, I paint the pictures that hit\nMore like the murals that fit\nDont turn away, get in front of it\nBrotha, did ya forget ya name?\nDid ya lose it on the wall playin Tic-Tac-Toe?\nYo, check the diagonal, three brothers gone, come on\nDoesnt that make it three in a row?\nCome on\nUh\nDrop that\nUh\nCome on\nYeah\nUh\nBrotha, did ya forget ya name?\nDid ya lose it on the wall playin Tic-Tac-Toe?\nYo, check the diagonal, three million gone, come on\nCause you know theyre counting backwards to zero\nEnvironment, the environment exceeding\nOn the level of our unconsciousness\nFor example, what does the billboard say?\nCome and play, come and play\nForget about the movement\nYeah\nUh\nAw, bring that shit in\nUh\nHey\nFreedom, yeah\nFreedom, yeah right\nFreedom, yeah\nFreedom, yeah\nFreedom, yeah, right\nFreedom, yeah\nFreedom, yeah, right", "Yeah, people come up\nYeah, we better turn the bass up on this one\nCheck it, since fifteen hundred and sixteen, Mayans attacked and overseen\nNow crawl amidst the ruins of this empty dream\nWith their borders and boots on top of us\nPullin knobs on the floor of their toxic metropolis\nBut how you gonna get what you need to get?\nThe gut eaters, blood drenched get offensive like Tet\nThe fifth sun sets get back reclaim\nThe spirit of Cuauhtémoc, alive and untamed\nNow face the funk now blastin out your speaker\nOn the one, Maya, Mexica\nThat vulture came to try and steal your name but now you got a gun\nYeah, this is for the people of the sun\nIts comin back around again\nThis is for the people of the sun\nIts comin back around again\nIts comin back around again\nThis is for the people of the sun\nIts comin back around again\nYeah, never forget that the whip snapped ya back\nYour spine cracked for tobacc-oh, Im the Marlboro Man, uh\nOur past blastin on through the verses\nBrigades of taxi cabs rollin Broadway like hearses\nTroops strippin zoots, shots of red mist\nSailors blood on the deck, come sister, resist\nFrom the era of terror, check this photo lens\nNow the City of Angels does the ethnic cleanse, uh\nHeads bobbin to the funk out your speaker\nOn the one, Maya, Mexica\nThat vulture came to try and steal your name but now you found a gun\nYoure history\nThis is for the people of the sun\nIts comin back around again\nThis is for the people of the sun\nIts comin back around again, yeah\nIts comin back around again\nThis is for the people of the sun\nIts comin back around again\nIts comin back around again\nThis is for the people of the sun\nIts comin back around again\nIts comin back around again\nThis is for the people of the sun\nIts comin back around\nOf the sun", "Feel the funk blast\nFeel the funk blast\nFeel the funk blast\nFeel the funk blast\nFeel the funk blast\nYo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, check it out, yo, yo, yo\nI be walkin God like a dog, my narrative, fearless\nMy word war returns to burn like Baldwin home from Paris\nLike Steel from a furnace, I was born landless\nThis is the native son, born of Zapatas guns\nStroll through the shanties and the cities remains\nSame bodies buried hungry but with different last names\nThese vultures rob everything, leave nothing but chains\nPick a point on the globe, yes, the pictures the same\nTheres a bank, theres a church, a myth and a hearse\nA mall and a loan, a child dead at birth\nTheres a widow pig parrot, a rebel to tame\nA white-hooded judge, a syringe and a vein\nAnd the riot be the rhyme of the unheard\nWhat you say, what you say, what you say, what?\nWhat you say, what you say, what you say, what?\nWhat you say, what you say, what you say, what?\nWhat you say, what you say, what you say, what?\nIm calm like a bomb\nIm calm like a bomb\nThis aint subliminal, feel the critical mass approach horizon\nThe pulse of the condemned, sound off Americas demise\nThe anti-myth rhythm rock shocker, yes, I spit fire\nHope lies in the smoldering rubble of empires\nYes, back through the shanties and the cities remains\nSame bodies buried hungry , but with different last names \nThem vultures robbin everyone, leave nothing but chains\nPick a point here at home, yes, the pictures the same\nTheres a field full of slaves, some corn and some debt\nTheres a ditch full of bodies, the check for the rent\nTheres a tap, the phone, the silence of stone\nThe numb black screen that be feelin like home\nAnd the riot be the rhyme of the unheard\nWhat you say, what you say, what you say, what?\nWhat you say, what you say, what you say, what?\nWhat you say, what you say, what you say, what?\nWhat you say, what you say, what you say, what?\nIm calm like a bomb\nIm calm like a bomb\nIm calm like a bomb\nIm calm like a bomb\nIm calm like a bomb\nIm calm like a bomb\nIm calm like a bomb\nIm calm like a bomb\nTheres a mass without roofs, theres a prison to fill\nTheres a countrys soul that reads post no bills\nTheres a strike and a line of cops outside of the mill\nTheres a right to obey and theres a right to kill\nTheres a mass without roofs, theres a prison to fill\nTheres a countrys soul that reads post no bills\nTheres a strike and a line of cops outside of the mill\nCause theres a right to obey and theres the right to kill", "Turn on the radio\nNah, fuck it, turn it off\nFear is your only god on the radio\nNah, fuck it, turn it off\nTurn it off, turn on the radio\nNah, fuck it, turn it off\nFear is your only god on the radio\nNah, fuck it\nYour savior, my guillotine, crosses and kerosene\nMerge on the networks, slangin nerve gas\nUp jump the boogie, then bang, let em hang\nWhile the paranoid try to stuff the void\nLets capture this AM mayhem\nUndressed and blessed by the Lord\nThe power pendulum swings by the umbilical cord\nShock around the clock, from noon til noon\nMen grabbin they mics and stuff em into the womb\nTerrors the product ya push\nWell, Im a truth addict, aw shit, I got a headrush\nSheep tremble and here come the votes\nThrown from the throat, cages and scapegoats\nUndressed and blessed by the Lord\nThe same devil that ran around Managua wit a sword\nCheck out the new style that Ollie found\nA tune with a bullet to shut down the devil sound\nShut down the devil sound\nThe program of Vietnow\nShut down the devil sound\nTurn on the radio\nNah, fuck it, turn it off\nFear is your only god on the radio\nNah, fuck it, turn it off\nTurn it off, turn on the radio\nNah, fuck it, turn it off\nFear is your only god on the radio\nNah, fuck it\nYour savior, my guillotine, crosses and kerosene\nFlex the cerebellum, fire, uh\nSomebody gotta shell em, these evil angels lists\nHittin the AM playlist, paid to say this\nThat ones inhuman, illegal, single, woman\nThe one without a movement\nThe transmissions whippin our backs\nYeah, comin down like bats from Stacey Koon and\nTerrors the product ya push\nWell, Im a truth addict, aw shit, I got a headrush\nThe sheep tremble and here come the votes\nThrown from the throat, cages and scapegoats\nOne caution, the mics a detonator, unwound \nTo shut down the devil sound\nShut down the devil sound\nCheck the heads bow in Vietnow\nShut down the devil sound\nIs all the world jails and churches?\nIs all the world jails and churches?\nIs all the world jails and churches?\nIs all the world jails and churches?\nIs all the world jails and churches?\nRadio\nNah, fuck it, turn it off\nFear is your only god on the radio\nNah, fuck it, turn it off\nTurn it off, turn on the radio\nNah, fuck it, turn it off\nFear is your only god on the radio\nNah, fuck it\nYour savior, my guillotine, crosses and kerosene\nFear is ya, fear is ya\nFear is your only god\nFear is ya, fear is ya\nFear is your only god\nFear is ya, fear is ya\nFear is your only god\nFear is ya, fear is ya\nFear is your only god", "Huh!\nCheck it\nUh!\nSilence, something about silence makes me sick\nCause silence can be violent sorta like a slit wrist\nIf the vibe was suicide, then you would push the button\nBut if ya bowin down, then let me do the cuttin\nSome speak the sounds but speak in silent voices\nLike radio is silent though it fills the air with noises\nIts transmissions bring submission as ya mold to the unreal\nAnd mad boy grips the microphone with a fistful of steel\nYeah\nAnd mad boy grips the microphone with a fistful of steel\nWith a fistful of steel\nWith a fistful of steel\nWith a fistful of steel\nIts time to flow like the fluid in ya veins\nIf ya will it, I will spill it and ya out\nJust as quick as ya came\nNot a silent one, but a defiant one\nNever a normal one cause Im the bastard son\nWith the visions of the move, vocals not to soothe\nBut to ignite and put in flight my sense of militance\nGroovin, playin that game called survival\nThe status, the elite, the enemy, the rival\nThe silent sheep slippin, riffin, trippin\nGive you a glimpse of the reality Im grippin\nSteppin into the jam and Im slammin like Shaquille\nMad boy grips the microphone with a fistful of steel\nYeah\nAnd mad boy grips the microphone with a fistful of steel\nWith a fistful of steel\nWith a fistful of steel\nWith a fistful of steel\nAw shit\nAnd if the vibe was suicide, then you would push the button\nBut if youre bowin down, then let me do the cuttin\nYeah\nCome on\nA .44 full of bullets\nFace full of pale\nEyes full of empty\nA stare full of nails\nThe roulette ball\nRolls alone on the wheel\nA mind full of fire\nAnd a fistful of steel\nAnd if the vibe was suicide, then you would push the button\nBut if youre bowin down, then let me do the cuttin\nYeah\nWith a fistful of steel, uh\nCome on\nUh, with a fistful of steel\nUh", "The main attraction, distraction\nGot ya number than number than numb\nEmpty ya pockets, son, they got you thinkin that\nWhat ya need is what they selling\nMake you think that buying is rebelling\nFrom the theaters to malls on every shore\nThe thin line between entertainment and war\nThe frontline is everywhere\nThere be no shelter here\nSpielberg, the nightmare works so push it far\nAmistad was a whip, the truth was feathered and tarred\nMemories erased, burned and scarred\nTrade in ya history for a VCR\nCinema, simulated life, ill drama\nFourth Reich culture, Americana\nChained to the dream they got you searchin for\nThe thin line between entertainment and war\nThere be no shelter here \nThere be no shelter here \nThere be no shelter here \nThere be no shelter here \nHospitals not profit full\nThe market bulls got pockets full\nTo advertise some hip disguise\nView the world from American eyes\nThe poor adore, keep fiendin for more\nThe thin line between entertainment and war\nThey fix the need, develop the taste\nBuy their products or get laid to waste\nCoca-Cola is back in the veins of Saigon\nAnd Rambo too, hes got a dope pair of Nikes on\nGodzilla, pure mothafuckin filler\nTo keep ya eyes off the real killer\nCinema, simulated life, ill drama\nFourth Reich culture, Americana\nChained to the dream they got you searchin for\nThe thin line between entertainment and war\nThere be no shelter here \nThere be no shelter here \nThere be no shelter here \nThere be no shelter here \nAmerican eyes, American eyes\nView the world from American eyes\nBury the past, rob us blind\nAnd leave nothing behind\nAmerican eyes, American eyes\nView the world from American eyes\nBury the past, rob us blind\nAnd leave nothing behind\nJust stare\nJust stare\nJust stare\nJust stare\nRelive the nightmare", "A jail cell is freedom from the pain in my home\nHatred passed on, passed on, and passed on\nA world of violent rage but its one that I can recognize\nHaving never seen the color of my fathers eyes\nYes, I dwell in hell, but its a hell that I can grip\nI tried to grip my family but I slipped\nTo escape from the pain in an existence mundane\nI got a nine, a sign, a set, and now I got a name\nRead my writing on the wall\nNo ones here to catch me when I fall\nDeath is on my side\nSuicide\nA jail cell is freedom from the pain in my home\nHatred passed on, passed on, and passed on\nA world of violent rage but its one that I can recognize\nHaving never seen the color of my fathers eyes\nYes, I dwell in hell, but its a hell that I can grip\nI tried to grip my family but I slipped\nTo escape from the pain in an existence mundane\nI got a nine, a sign, a set, and now I got a name\nRead my writing on the wall\nNo ones here to catch me when I fall\nCaught between my culture and the system\nGenocide\nRead my writing on the wall\nNo ones here to catch me when I fall\nIf ignorance is bliss\nThen knock the smile off my face\nYeah\nIf we dont take action now\nWell settle for nothing later\nWell settle for nothing now\nAnd well settle for nothing later\nIf we dont take action now\nWell settle for nothing later\nWell settle for nothing now\nAnd well settle for nothing later\nIf we dont take action now\nWell settle for nothing later\nWell settle for nothing now\nAnd well settle for nothing later\nIf we dont take action now\nWell settle for nothing later\nWell settle for nothing now\nAnd well settle for nothing later", "Rebel, rebel and yell\nCause our people still dwell in hell\nLocked in a cell, yes, the structures a cell\nMad is the story I tell\nHow long can we wait?\nCome on, seein whats at stake\nAction for reaction\nIf your minds in a somewhat complacent state, get a check up\nThis is a stick up\nOur freedom, or your life\nLord, I wish I could be peaceful\nBut there can be no sequel\nNow freedom must be fundamental\nIn Johannesburg, or South Central\nOn the mic cause someone should tell em\nTo kick in the township rebellion\nYeah, what about that, sucka?\nYeah, so you thought you could get with the hardlines\nThat fill your mind\nThoughts, battles fought, and lessons taught\nYes, Ill display the fitness, and flip like a gymnast\nRaise my fist and resist!\nAsleep though we stand in the midst of the war\nGotta get mine, gotta get more\nKeepin the mic warm against the norm\nCause what does it offer me?\nI think often its nothin but a coffin\nGotta get wreck til our necks never swing on a rope\nFrom here to the cape of no hope\nNow freedom must be fundamental\nIn Johannesburg, or South Central\nOn the mic cause someone should tell em\nTo kick in the township rebellion\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhats it gonna take?\nShackle their minds when theyre bent on the cross\nWhen ignorance reigns, life is lost\nShackle their minds when theyre left on the cross\nWhen ignorance reigns, life is lost\nShackled our minds when were bent on the cross\nWhen ignorance reigns, life is lost\nShackled our minds when were left on the cross\nWhen ignorance reigns, life is lost\nLost\nLost\nShackle your minds and youre left on the cross\nWhen ignorance reigns, life is lost\nJust shackle your minds when youre bent on the cross\nWhen ignorance reigns, life is lost\nLost\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm", "My fears hunt me down\nCapturing my memories\nThe frontier of loss\nThey try to escape across the street where\nJesus stripped bare\nAnd raped the spirit He was supposed to nurture\nIn the name of my\nIn the name of my\nBorn of a broken man, but not a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, never a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, but not a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, never a broken man\nLike autumn leaves his sense fell from him\nAn empty glass of himself shattered somewhere within\nHis thoughts like a hundred moths\nTrapped in a lampshade\nSomewhere within\nTheir wings banging and burning\nOn through endless night\nForever awake he lies shaking and starving\nPraying for someone to turn off the light\nBorn of a broken man, never a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, but not a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, never a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, but not a broken man\nMy fear is hunting me down\nCapturing my memories\nThe frontier of loss\nThey try to escape across the street where\nJesus stripped bare\nAnd raped the spirit He was supposed to nurture\nIn the name of my\nIn the name of my\nBorn of a broken man, but not a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, never a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, but not a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, never a broken man", "Uh\nGot no card, so I got not soul\nLife is prison, no parole, no control\nThe jura got my number on a wire tap\nCause I jack for Similac, fuck a Cadillac\nSurvive, one motive, no hope\nCause every sidewalk I walk is like a tightrope\nYes, I know my deadline, sire, when my life expires\nIm sendin paper south under the barbed wire\nThe mother of my child will lose her mind at my grave\nIts my life for their life, so call it a free trade\nPor vida and our name up on the stall\nI took a death trip when I tried to cross the white wall\nWalk unseen past the graves and the gates\nBorn without a face\nOne motive, no hope, uh\nBorn without a face\nWalk unseen past the graves and the gates\nBorn without a face\nOne motive, no hope, uh\nYeah, born without a face\nWithout a face\nYeah, I tried to look back to my past long lost\nA blood donor to the land owner holocaust\nPops heart stopped, in came the air drop\nFlooded the trench, he couldnt shake the toxic shock\nMaize was all we needed to sustain\nNow her golden skin burns, insecticide rain\nYa down wit DDT, yeah, you know me\nIm raped for the grapes, profit for the bourgeoisie\nWar tape boomin, path is Luminoso\nIm headed north like my name was Kid Cisco\nTo survive, one motive, no hope, uh\nIts hard to breathe with Wilsons hand around my throat, uh\nStrangled and mangled, another SS curtain call\nWhen I tried to cross the white walls\nWhen I tried to cross the white walls\nWalk unseen past the graves and the gates\nBorn without a face\nOne motive, no hope, uh\nBorn without a face\nWalk unseen past the graves and the gates\nBorn without a face\nOne motive, no hope, uh\nBorn without a face\nYou say fortify\nReaction, you divide\nYou say fortify\nReaction, re-action\nYou say fortify\nReaction, re-action\nYou say fortify\nReaction, you divide", "No matter how hard you try, you cant stop us now\nNo matter how hard you try, you cant stop us now\nWere the renegades of this atomic age\nThis atomic age of renegades\nRenegades of this atomic age\nThis atomic age of renegades\nSince the Prehistoric ages and the days of ancient Greece\nRight down through the Middle Ages\nPlanet Earth kept going through changes\nAnd then no renaissance came \nAnd times continued to change \nNothing stayed the same, but there were always renegades\nLike Chief Sitting Bull, Tom Paine\nDr. Martin Luther King, Malcolm X\nThey were renegades of their time and age\nSo many renegades!\nWere the Renegades of funk\nWere the Renegades of funk\nWere the Renegades of funk\nWere the Renegades of funk\nFrom a different solar system\nMany, many galaxies away\nWe are the force of another creation\nA new musical revelation\nAnd were on this musical mission, to help the others listen\nAnd groove from land to land, singin electronic chants like\nZulu Nation\nRevelations\nDestroy all nations\nDestroy all nations\nDestroy all nations\nDestroy all nations\nDestroy all nations\nDestroy all nations\nNow renegades are the people with their own philosophies\nThey change the course of history\nEveryday people like you and me\nWere the renegades, were the people with our own philosophies\nWe change the course of history\nEveryday people like you and me\nCome on\nWere the renegades of funk\nWere the renegades of funk\nWere the renegades of funk\nWere the renegades of funk\nWith Poppin, sockin, rockin puttin a side of hip-hop\nBecause where were goin there aint no stoppin\nPoppin, sockin, rockin, puttin a side of hip-hop\nBecause where were goin there aint no stoppin\nPoppin and sockin and rockin and puttin a side of hip-hop\nCause were poppin, sockin, rockin puttin a side of hip-hop\nPoppin, sockin, rockin puttin a side of HIP-HOP!!\nWere the renegades of funk\nWere the renegades of funk\nWere the renegades of funk\nWere the renegades of funk\nWere teachers of the funk and not of empty popping\nWere blessed with the force and the sight of electronics\nWith the bass, and the treble, the horns, and our vocals\nCause every time I pop into the beat, we get fresh\nCome on\nCome on\nThere was a time when our music\nWas something called The Bay Street beat\nPeople would gather from all around\nTo get down to the big sound\nYou had to be a renegade in those days\nTo take a man to the dance floor\nSay jam sucka \nSay jam sucka \nSay groove sucka \nNow groove sucka \nNow dance sucka \nNow dance sucka \nSay move sucka \nNow move sucka \nSay jam sucka \nSay jam sucka \nSay groove sucka \nNow groove sucka \nSay dance sucka \nSay dance sucka \nSay move sucka \nNow move sucka \nWere the renegades of funk\nWere the renegades of funk\nWere the renegades of funk\nWere the renegades of funk\nWere the renegades of funk\nWere the renegades of funk\nWere the renegades of funk\nWere the renegades of funk", "Come wit it now\nCome wit it now\nThe microphone explodes, shattering the mold\nEither drop the hits like de la O or get the fuck off the commode\nWith the sure shot, sure to make a body drop\nDrop and dont copy, yo, dont call this a co-op\nTerror rains drenchin, quenchin the thirst\nOf the power don, that five-sided Fistagon\nThe rotten sore on the face of Mother Earth gets bigger\nThe triggers cold, empty your purse\nRally round the family\nWith a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family\nWith a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family\nWith a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family\nWith a pocket full of shells\nWeapons, not food, not homes, not shoes\nNo need, just feed the war, cannibal animal\nI walk the corner to the rubble, that used to be a library\nLine up to the mind cemetery, now\nWhat we dont know keep the contracts alive and moving\nThey dont gotta burn the books, they just remove em\nWhile arms warehouses fill as quick as the cells\nRally round the family, pocket full of shells\nRally round the family\nWith a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family\nWith a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family\nWith a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family\nWith a pocket full of shells\nListen, birds chirpin, dogs barkin, kids missin, milk cartons\nSoul dark as black markets, war is startin, more is sparkin\nGlory prophets praise Muhammad\nDiffrent Strokes, Philip Drummond\nGave me crack, like Im plumbin, Jesus Christ, second comin\nCut myself, now Im numbin, never scared, never runnin\nChosen one, Im one hunnid, pray for me, pray for London\nGuilty me, he aint done and gun me down, all for nothin\nPrecedent in abundance, president is a puppet\nGotta hate it, gotta love it, pass a class, I rise above it\nWise enough, advise the public, pistol bust, screamin, Fuck it\nDonald Trump, Donald Duck, what the fuck is the difference?\nNow, we stuck in a rut, this aint what I envisioned\nWhat is what? What is guts when you dont have intuition?\nNot a saint, not a sin, tell me, whats my real religion?\nGenocide, Genesis, they say its a new beginning\nIm a sinner, you a sinner, I can see the devil grinning\nRally round the family\nWith a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family\nWith a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family\nWith a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family\nWith a pocket full of shells\nBulls on parade\nCome wit it now\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade", "The sun ablaze as Marias foot touches the surface of sand\nOn northern land, as human contraband\nSome rico from Jalisco passed her name to the Boss\nShe stuffed into a truckbed, she clutches her cross\nHere comes the exhaust and it rips through her lungs\nShes off fast to the pasture, like cattle shell cross\nDegree 106, sweat and vomit are thrown\nAnd she prays and suffocates upon the memories of home\nOf Yanqui guns for blood, debts on the loans\nOf smoldering fields, rape, rubble and bones\nOf graves hidden, trapped up in visions of war\nOf nothing, no one, nobody, no more\nThese are her mountains and skies and she radiates\nThrough historys rivers of blood, she regenerates\nAnd like the sun disappears only to reappear\nShes eternally here\nHer time is near\nNever conquered but here\nTo tear away at the mask\nAnd now she got a quota, the needle and thread crucifixion\nSold and shipped across the new line of Mason Dixon\nRippin through denim, the point an inch from her vein\nThe foreman approach, his steps now pound in her brain\nHis presence, it terrifies and eclipses her days\nNo minutes to rest, no moments to pray\nAnd with a whisper he whips her, her soul chained to his will\nMy job is to kill if you forget to take your pill\nHer arms jerk, the sisters gather round her and scream\nAs if in a dream, eyes on the crimson stream\nNumb as her wrists spit shots of blood to the floor\nI am nothing, no one, nobody, no more\nThese are her mountains and skies and she radiates\nThrough historys rivers of blood, she regenerates\nAnd like the sun disappears only to reappear \nShes eternally here\nHer time is near\nNever conquered but here\nTo tear away at the mask\nAway at the mask\nTo tear away at the mask\nNo minutes to rest\nNo moment to pray\nNo minutes to rest\nNo moment to pray\nNo minutes to rest\nIt eclipses her day\nJust a moment to pray\nTo tear away at the mask\nAway at the mask\nTo tear away at the mask\nTo tear away at the mask", "Oh, wait a minute now\nHuh-huh\nCome on\nOh, wait a minute now\nCheck\nTo the Young R to the E, the B to the E, the L\nNever give up, just live up\nFed upon America, Ill be spittin it up\nRippin it up for an even amount in each cup\nTo my brothers burning bare feet on black top\nWhose curled neath the shadows from the gaze of the cops\nWhose huntin for 9 to 5s through factory locks\nIs now hunted on this modern day auction block\nMic check, ha ha ha\nI be the anti-myth rhythm rock shocker\nMic check, ha ha ha ha\nI be the anti-myth rhythm rock shocker, what?\nMic check, ha ha ha\nI be the anti-myth rhythm rock shocker\nMic check, ha ha ha ha\nI be the anti-myth rhythm rock shocker, what?\nCheck, check, check, check, the check\nOh, packin\nFlexin and mashin with complex text\nFast and in a fashion that snap back necks\nQuicker than a fed cash the company checks\nI be the Fire only Marley could catch\nYes, I be the flame in the cellar, beware\nNameless cold millions gaspin for air\nThe naked and wageless, scream within cages\nWhat, they make you pull your shit\nJust to get your share, what?\nMic check, ha ha ha\nI be the anti-myth rhythm rock shocker\nMic check, ha ha ha ha\nI be the anti-myth rhythm rock shocker, what?\nMic check, ha ha ha\nI be the anti-myth rhythm rock shocker\nMic check, ha ha ha ha\nI be the anti-myth rhythm rock shocker, what?\nWell walk em down with the warriors sound\nWith this mic device, I spit nonfiction \nWho got the power?, this be my question \nThe mass or the few in this torn nation? \nThe priest, the book, or the congregation? \nThe politricks who rob and hold down your zone? \nOr those who give the thieves the key to their homes? \nThe pig whos free to murder one Shucklak\nOr survivors who make a move and murder one back?\nWith this mic device, I spit nonfiction\nWho got the power?, this be my question\nThe mass of the few in this torn nation?\nThe priest, the book, or the congregation?\nThe politricks who rob and hold down your zone?\nOr those who give the thieves the key to their homes?\nThe pig whos free to murder one Shucklak\nOr survivors who make a move and murder one back?\nMic check, ha ha ha\nI be the anti-myth rhythm rock shocker\nMic check, ha ha ha ha\nI be the anti-myth rhythm rock shocker, what?\nMic check, ha ha ha\nI be the anti-myth rhythm rock shocker\nMic check, ha ha ha ha\nI be the anti-myth rhythm rock shocker, what?", "His spit is worth more than her work\nPass the purse to the pugilists\nHes a prize-fighter\nAnd he bought rings and he owns kin\nAnd now hes swinging\nAnd now hes the champion\nHey revolver, dont mothers make good fathers? Revolver\nHey revolver, dont mothers make good fathers? Revolver\nA spotless domain\nHides festering hopes, shes certain theres more\nPictures of fields without fences\nA spotless domain\nHides festering hopes, shes certain theres more\nPictures of fields without fences\nHer body numbs as he approaches the door\nAs he approaches the door\nAs he approaches the door\nAs he approaches the door\nAs he approaches\nHey revolver, dont mothers make good fathers? Revolver\nHey revolver, dont mothers make good fathers? Revolver\nHey revolver, dont mothers make good fathers? Revolver\nHey revolver, dont mothers make good fathers? Revolver\nYeah\nHey revolver, dont mothers make good fathers? Revolver\nHey revolver, dont mothers make good fathers? Revolver\nRevolver\nRevolver\nRevolver\nRevolver", "Yeah, ya tryin to tire me, tire me\nI can see you in front of me, front of me\nYa tryin to tire me, tire me\nWhy dont you get from in front of me?\nOh, shes got everyones eyes \nIn every home theres a sickening distress \nOf roll that film shes a precious, a precious one\nBut were all gonna, nah, were already dead\nWere already dead\nAnd those colorful words for the Laos frontiersmen\nWho passed away with the truth amidst the eulogies of bliss\nWho will know now what I know about you?\nNow that historys a flowery cancerous mess\nYeah, ya tryin to tire me, a mess\nOverbearing, yes, ya tryin to tire me, a mess\nYeah, ya tryin to tire me, tire me\nSo get the fuck from in front of me\nNah, lets see it broken, bloody and undressed\nWere already dead\n{Guitar solo}\nIn a violent time, in a violent time\nIn a violent time, in a violent time\nIn a violent time, in a violent time\nIn a violent time, in a violent time\nI wanna be Jackie Onassis\nI wanna wear a pair of dark sunglasses\nI wanna be Jackie O\nOh, oh, oh, oh, please dont die\nYeah, ya tryin to tire me, tire me\nI can see you in front of me, front of me\nYa tryin to tire me, tire me\nWhy dont you get from in front of me?\nWere already dead\nWere already dead\nWere already dead\nWere already dead", "The sisters are in so check the front line\nSeems I spent the 80s in the Haiti state of mind\nCast me into classes for electroshock\nStraight incarcerated, the curriculums a cell block\nIm swimming in half truths and it makes me wanna spit\nInstructor come separate the healthy from the sick\nYa weigh me on a scale, smelling burnt skin\nIts dark now in Dachau and Im screaming from within\nCause Im cell locked in the doctrines of the right\nEnslaved by dogma, talk about my birthrights\nYet at every turn Im running into Hells gates\nSo I grip the cannon like Fanon and pass the shells to my classmates\nAw, power to the people\nCause the bosss right to live is mine to die\nSo Im going out heavy sorta like Mount Tai\nWith the five centuries of penitentiary so let the guilty hang\nIn the year of the boomerang\nI got no property but yo, Im a piece of it\nSo let the guilty hang\nI got no property but yo, Im a piece of it\nSo let the guilty hang\nI got no property but yo, Im a piece of it\nSo let the guilty hang\nI got no property but yo, Im a piece of it\nIn the year of the boomerang\nYeah\nNow its upon you\nNow its upon you\nThe sistas are in so check the front line\nSeems I spent the 80s in the Haiti state of mind\nCast me into classes for electro shock\nStraight incarcerated, the curriculums a cell block\nIm swimmin in half truths and it makes me wanna spit\nInstructor come separate the healthy from the sick\nYa weigh me on a scale, smellin burnt skin\nIts dark now in Dachau and Im screamin from within\nCause Im cell locked in tha doctrines of the right\nEnslaved by dogma, talk about my birthrights\nYet at every turn Im runnin into Hells gates\nSo I grip the cannon like Fanon and pass the shells to my classmates\nAw, power to the people\nCause the bosses right to live is mine to die\nSo Im goin out heavy sorta like Mount Tai\nWith the five centuries of penitentiary so let the guilty hang\nIn the year of the boomerang\nI got no property but yo, I’m a piece of it\nSo let tha guilty hang\nI got no property but yo, I’m a piece of it\nIn the year of the Boomerang\nI got no property but yo, I’m a piece of it\nSo let tha guilty hang\nI got no property but yo, I’m a piece of it\nIn the year of the boomerang\nYeah\nNow its upon you\nNow its upon you\nYou\nYou\nYou\nYou\nYou\nYou\nYou\nYou\nYeah", "Mic check and one, two, one, two\nMic check and one, two\nMic check and one, two\nLick off the shot, my stories shock ya like Ellison\nMainline adrenaline, Gaza to Tienanmen\nFrom the basement Im dwellin in\nI cock back the sling to stone a settler\nBreaks him off clean, call me the upsetter\nHere comes the hands on the leashes, the cross\nThe capital, the pale families, the fear, and the mouthpieces\nThe single sista lynch, the cell doors crash\nThe masters drums echo, echo, echo, echo, echo, echo\nRoll right, roll call\nBut now were alright, were all calm\nRoll right, roll call\nBut now were alright, were all calm\nThis hits like fists, bomb with the left and dont miss\nWith the sickest stilo, I spark fear like pigs in the park\nHead crack, I hijack the papers\nThe vapors caught fire up in your mind, come back, rewind one time\nHere comes the hands on the leashes, the cross\nThe capital, the pale families, the fear, and the mouthpieces\nThe single sista lynch, the cell doors crash\nThe masters drums echo, echo, echo, echo, echo\nRoll right, roll call\nBut now were alright, were all calm\nRoll right, roll call\nWe gotta take em to the seventh level\nWe gotta take em to the seventh level\nFor their lives and my lives were never settled\nCome on, dont freeze when zero hour comes\nCome on\nCome on, dont freeze when zero hour comes\nCome on\nSend em to the seventh level\nSend em to the seventh level\nSend em to the seventh level\nSend em to the seventh level\nFor their lives and my lives were never settled", "Satellites and pair of mirrors and\nAnd a man without a home\nWith a horse and a rider\nAnd a clever, cunning killer\nSilent in error and vocal in spotlights\nLying always, sucking on a bottle of\nThat sweet indulgent fluid\nOh greed, oh yes, oh greed, oh yes\nYeah, yeah, yeah, yeah\nYour friendship is a fog\nThat disappears when the wind redirects\nYou\nYes, you\nFathers expectations\nSoul soaked in spit and urine\nAnd you gotta make it where?\nTo a sanctuary thats a fragile American hell\nAn empty dream\nA selfish, horrific vision\nPassed on like the deadliest of viruses\nCrushing you and your naive profession\nHave no illusions, boy\nVomit all ideals and serve\nSleep and wake and serve and\nDont just think, just wake and serve and\nYeah, yeah, yeah, yeah\nYeah, your friendship is a fog\nThat disappears when the wind redirects\nYou\nInterested in you\nInterested in you\nInterested in you\nInterested in you\nInterested in you\nInterested in you\nInterested in you\nInterested in you\nInterested in you \nInterested in you \nInterested in you \nInterested in you \nInterested in you \nInterested in you \nInterested in you \n Interested in you\n Interested in you\nInterested in you", "A mass of hands press on the market window\nGhosts of progress dressed in slow death\nFeeding on hunger and glaring through the promise\nUpon the food that rots slowly in the aisle\nA mass of nameless at the oasis\nThat hides the graves beneath the masters hill\nBuried for drinking the rivers water while\nShackled to the the line at the empty well\nThis is the new sound, just like the old sound\nJust like the noose wound over the new ground\nThis is the new sound, just like the old sound\nJust like the noose wound over new ground\nListen to the fascist sing\nTake hope here, war is elsewhere\nYou were chosen, this is Gods land\nSoon well be free of blot and mixture\nSeeds planted by our forefathers hand\nA mass of promises begin to rupture\nLike the pockets of the new world kings\nLike swollen stomachs In Appalachia\nLike the priest that fucked you as he whispered holy things\nA mass of tears have transformed the stones now\nSharpened on suffering and woven into the slings\nHope lies in the rubble of this rich fortress\nTaking today what tomorrow never brings\nThis is the new sound, just like the old sound\nJust like the noose wound over the new ground\nThis is the new sound, just like the old sound\nJust like the noose wound over new ground\nThis is the new sound, just like the old sound\nJust like the noose wound over the new ground\nAint the new sound just like the old sound?\nLook at the noose now, over the, over the, over the burning ground\nAint it funny how the factorys doors close?\nRound the time that the school doors close?\nRound the time that the doors of the jail cells\nOpen up to greet you like the reaper?\nAint it funny how the factorys doors close?\nRound the time that the school doors close?\nRound the time that a hundred thousand jail cells\nOpen up to greet you like the reaper?\nOasis\nThis is no oasis\nThis is the new sound, just like that old sound\nJust like the noose wound over the new ground\nThis is the new sound, just like the old sound\nJust like the noose wound over new ground\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall\nLike ashes in the fall", "Man walks along the railroad track\nHes goin some place and theres no turnin back\nThe Highway Patrol chopper comin up over the ridge\nMan sleeps by a campfire under the bridge\nThe shelter line stretchin around the corner\nWelcome to the New World Order\nFamilies sleepin in their cars out in the Southwest\nNo job, no home, no peace, no rest, no rest\nAnd the highway is alive tonight\nNobodys foolin nobody as to where it goes\nIm sitting down here in a campfire light\nSearchin for the ghost of Tom Joad\nHe pulls his prayer book out of a sleepin bag\nThe preacher lights up a bud and takes a drag\nHes waitin for the time when the last shall be first, and the first shall be last\nIn a cardboard box neath the underpass\nWith a one-way ticket to the promised land\nWith a hole in your belly and a gun in your hand\nLookin for a pillow of solid rock\nBathin in the citys aqueducts\nAnd the highway is alive tonight\nNobodys foolin nobody as to where it goes\nIm sittin down here in the campfire light\nWith the ghost of old Tom Joad\nNow Tom said\nMa, whenever ya see a cop beatin a guy\nWherever a hungry newborn baby cries\nWherever theres a fight against blood and hatred in the air\nLook for me, Ma, Ill be there\nWherever somebodys strugglin for a place to stand\nFor a decent job or a helpin hand\nWherever somebody is strugglin to be free\nLook in their eyes, Ma, youll see me\nYoull see me\nYoull see me\nYoull see me\nYoull see me\nYoull see me\nYoull see me\nYoull see me\nYoull see me\nAnd the highway is alive tonight\nNobodys foolin nobody as to where it goes\nIm sittin down here in the campfire light\nWith the ghost of Tom Joad", "Flip this capital eclipse\nThe vocal tone has got em sweating their own apocalypse\nYes, rebel of the grains stand masterless\nThe masked ones cap one, NAFTA coming with the new disaster\nAnd yes, we in with the wind and the Plan de Ayala kin\nComing back around again\nThe slave driver saliva, one night, power turns\nThem devils mouths dry, now Mexico burns\nSo here they come, one by one, them killers of the new frontier\nOccupy, causing fear, come on\nWith the wind below\nWe in with the wind below\nWith the wind below\nFlip this capital eclipse\nThem bury life wit IMF shifts, and poison lips\nYo, they talk it while slicing our veins, yo, so mark it\nFrom the FINCAS overseers to them vultures playing markets\nShe aint got nothing but weapon and shawl\nShe is Chol, Tzotzil, Tojolobal, Tzeltal\nThe tools are her tools, Ejidos and ovaries\nShe was strangled, now through a barrel she breathes\nShe is the wind below\nThe wind below\nShe is the wind below\nAnd all the shareholders gonna flex and try to annex the truth\nWhile the new trust is gonna flex and cast their image in you\nYeah, all the shareholders gonna flex and try to annex the truth\nAnd while the new trust tries to flex and cast their image in you\nAnd GE is gonna flex and try and annex the truth\nAnd NBC is gonna flex and cast their image in you\nAnd Disney bought the fantasies and piles of eyes\nAnd ABCs new thrill rides of trials and lies\nAnd while the gut eaters strain to pull the mud from their mouths\nThey force our ears to go deaf to the screams in the south, yeah\nBut we in with the wind below\nBut we in with the wind below\nBut we in with the wind below", "Hey, dont miss out on what youre passing\nYoure missing the hootah of the funky Buddha\nEluder of the fucked up styles that get wicked\nSo come on as I start to kick it\nCause were like outlaws stridding\nSuckers are hiding\nJump behind the bush\nWhen they see me driving by\nHanging out my window\nAnd my magnum taking out some putos\nActing kinda loco\nIm just another local kid\nFrom the street getting paid for my vocals\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nIve been doin all the dumb shit, yo, because nothin is coming from it\nIm not gonna waste no time fucking around, I got ya humming\nHummin, comin at ya\nThen you know I had to gat ya\nTime for some action, just a fraction of friction \nI got the clearance to run the interference\nInto your satellite, shining a battle light\nSwing out the gat, and I know that well gat you right\nHeres an example, just a little sample\nHow I could just kill a man\nOne time tried to come in my home\nTake my chrome, I said, Yo, its on\nTake cover son, or youre assed out\nHow do you like my chrome? Then I watched the rookie pass out\nDidnt have to blast him but I did any way\nHa ha ha ha ha! Young punk had to pay\nSo I just killed the man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nIts gonna be a long time before I finish\nOne of the many missions that I have to establish\nTo light my spliff, ignite you with these site\nSo if you aint down\nBullshit\nSay some punk tried to get you for your auto\nWould call the one time and play the role model?\nNo, I think youll play like a thug\nNext, hear the shot of a magnum slug\nHumming, coming at ya!\nYeah, you know Im gonna to gat ya\nHow do you know where Im at\nWhen you havent been where Ive been?\nUnderstand where Im coming from\nWhile youre up on the hill in your big home\nIm out here risking my dome, just for a bucket, or a fast ducat\nJust to stay alive, yo, I gotta say, Fuck it\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHere is something you cant understand\nHow I could just kill a man\nHow I could just kill a man\nHow I could just kill a man", "Come on, check it\nThrough steel walls, your voice blastin on\nTrue rebel, my brother, Mumia, I reflect upon\nYou the spark, that set the prairie fires on\nMake the masses a mastodon path to trample the fascists on\nAt fifteen exposed Phillys finest killing machine\nBoots and mad guns, they pacify ya young\nCause and effect, smell the smoke in the breeze\nMy panther, my brother, we are at war until youre free\nYoull never silence the voice of the voiceless\nYoull never silence the voice of the voiceless\nWell, the powerful got nervous cause he refused to be they servant\nCause he spit truth that burned like black churches\nProse and verses, a million poor in hearses\nWatch the decision of Dred Scott as it reverses\nLong as the rope is tight around Mumias neck\nLet there be no rich white life we bound to respect\nCause and effect, cant ya smell the smoke in the breeze?\nMy panther, my brother, we are at war until youre free\nYoull never silence the voice of the voiceless\nYoull never silence the voice of the voiceless\nYoull never silence the voice of the voiceless\nYoull never silence the voice of the voiceless\nAnd Orwells hell, a terror era coming through\nBut this little brothers watching you too\nAnd Orwells hell, a terror era coming through\nBut this little brothers watching you too, watching you too", "Every official that comes in, cripples us, leaves us maimed\nSilent and tamed\nAnd with our flesh and bones, he builds his homes\nSouthern fist, rise through the jungle mist\nClenched to smash power so cancerous\nA black flag and a red star\nA rising sun loomin over Los Angeles\nYes, for Raza livin in La La\nLike Gaza on to the dawn of Intifada\nReach for the lessons the masked pass on\nAnd seize the metropolis, its you its built on\nEverything can change on a new years day\nEverything can change on a new years day\nEverything can change on a new years day\nAnd everything changed on a new years day\nCome on\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land\nTheir existence is a crime\nTheir seat, their robe, their tie\nTheir land deeds, their hired guns\nTheyre the crime\nShots heard underground round the rapture\nThe worlds eye captured at last in a Mexican pasture\nThe masked screaming land or death\nWithin a breath, a war from the depth of time\nWho shot four puppet governors in a line\nWho shook all the world bankers who think they can rhyme\nShot the landlords who knew it was mine\nYes, its a war from the depth of time\nEverything can change on a new years day\nEverything can change on a new years day\nEverything can change on a new years day\nEverything can change on a new years day\nCome on\nUgh, hear the masked scream\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nIts land or death\nYeah, uh\nCome on\nCome on\nYes, yes\nYes\nIts war within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death", "Hungry people dont stay hungry for long\nThey get hope from fire and smoke as the weak grow strong\nHungry people dont stay hungry for long\nThey get hope from fire and smoke as they reach for the dawn\nThe spirit of Jackson now screams through the ruins\nThrough factory chains and the ghost of the Union\nThe forgotten remains disappear to their new homes\nThe knife, the thrust, the life burns to the raw bone\nThe blood on the floor of the tear is still dryin\nCover the spread sheets, the Dow Jones skyin\nThe cell block live stock, the bodies they buyin\nOld south order, new northern horizon!\nViolence in all hands, embrace it if need be\nLivin been warfare, I press it to CD\nViolence in all hands, embrace it if need be\nLivin been warfare, I press it to CD\nA fire in the masters house is set\nA fire in the masters house is set\nA fire in the masters house is set\nA fire in the masters house is set\nHungry people dont stay hungry for long\nThey get hope from fire and smoke as the weak grow strong\nHungry people dont stay hungry for long\nThey get hope from fire and smoke as they reach for the dawn\nYo, yo, check the high tech terror of the new order athletes\nPeering into the eyes of the child already on trial\nThese armies rippin families apart, get em on file\nConvictions fit the stock profile all the while\nFilms of dogs, cuttin through homes\nRipping skin from bones, yes, the new millennium homes\nPrivatizing through private eyes, an era rising\nOf the old south order, new northern horizon\nViolence in all hands, embrace it if need be\nLivin been warfare, I press it to CD\nViolence in all hands, embrace it if need be\nLivin been warfare, I press it to CD\nA fire in the masters house is set\nA fire in the masters house is set\nA fire in the masters house is set\nA fire in the masters house is set", "Pistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nThey can be fuckin wit other niggas shit, but they cant be fuckin wit mine\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nThey can be fuckin wit other niggas shit, but they cant be fuckin wit mine\nI was raised in the hood called what the dif?\nWhere the brothers in the hood, we chivalrous\nSo I rest defense on my ligaments\nPistol grip pump on my lap, riskin it\nFull life, living it, never giving it back\nToo late for slipping, so slack up\nOn my lap, its on your lips, so track shot\nA steel dick, more clip for pump but\nAll Im saying there aint no question who the man is\nIn my Civic or in this showbiz\nI shit a fool, kill the fool, come on, what you say?\nI think I can take care of all you motherfuckers, dont delay right away\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nThey can be fuckin wit other niggas shit, but they cant be fuckin wit mine\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nThey can be fuckin wit other niggas shit, but they cant be fuckin wit mine\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times, right?\nCause tricks be out for your blind side\nNever understood it, but remember I showed you\nThat in these times, you gotta look over your shoulder, strap\nWell, that aint nothin but the intent of gettin high\nAnd a cop giving you shit for just passing you by\nIf youre ever in trouble or on the double, best to call your pals\nIf you aint got none now, sucka, I got a million\nStyles around me\nAre we getting along? We family, we better be\nWe got your back, we got your back, kid\nJust dont be pointing one of them guns, aight man\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nThey can be fuckin wit other niggas shit, but they cant be fuckin wit mine\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nPistol grip pump on my lap at all times\nThey can be fuckin wit other niggas shit, but they cant be fuckin wit mine", "Yo, I was a fiend before I became a teen\nI melted microphones instead of cones of ice cream\nMusic orientated so when hip-hop was originated\nFitted like pieces of puzzles, complicated\nShot grabbed the mic and try to say, Yes yall!\nThey tried to take it, and say that Im too small\nCool, cause I dont get upset\nI kick a hole in the speaker, pull the plug, then I jet\nBack to the lab, without a mic to grab\nSo then I add all the rhymes I had\nOne after the another one, then I make another one\nTo diss the opposite then ask if the brothers done\nI get a craving like I fiend for nicotine\nBut I dont need a cigarette, know what I mean?\nIm raging, ripping up the stage and\nDont it sound amazing cause every rhyme is made and\nThought of, cause its sort of an addiction\nMagnetized by the mixing\nE-F-F-E-C-T, a smooth operator operating correctly\nAn E-F-F-E-C-T, a smooth operator operating correctly\nE-F-F-E-C-T, a smooth operator operating correctly\nAn E-F-F-E-C-T , a smooth operator operating correctly\nBut back to the problem, I got a habit\nYou cant solve it, you silly rabbit\nThe prescription is a hypertone thats thorough when\nI fiend for a microphone like heroin\nSoon as the bass kicks, I need a fix\nGimme a stage and a mic and a mix\nAnd Ill put you in a mood or is it a state of\nUnawareness? Beware, its the re-animator\nA menace to a microphone, a lethal weapon\nAn assasinator, if the people aint stepping\nYou see a part of me that you never seen\nWhen Im fiendin for a microphone\nCause I take it to the maximum, I cant relax see, Im\nHype as a hypochrondriac cause the rap be one\nHell of a antidote, something you cant smoke\nMore than dope, youre trying to move away but you cant, youre broke\nMore than cracked up, you should have backed up\nFor those who act up need to be more than smacked up\nE-F-F-E-C-T, a smooth operator operating correctly\nAn E-F-F-E-C-T, a smooth operator operating correctly\nE-F-F-E-C-T, a smooth operator operating correctly\nAn E-F-F-E-C-T , a smooth operator operating correctly\nA smooth operator operating correctly\nA smooth operator operating correctly\nA smooth operator operating correctly\nA smooth operator operating correctly\nMusic orientated so when hip-hop was originated, originated\nIt fitted like pieces of puzzles, complicated, complicated\nMusic orientated so when hip-hop was originated, originated\nIt fitted like pieces of puzzles, complicated, complicated\nMusic orientated so when hip-hop was originated, originated\nIt fitted like pieces of puzzles, complicated, complicated\nMusic orientated so when hip-hop was originated, originated\nIt fitted like pieces of puzzles, complicated, complicated\nMusic orientated so when hip-hop was originated\nIt fitted like pieces of puzzles, complicated\nMusic orientated so when hip-hop was originated\nIt fitted like pieces of puzzles, complicated\nCause Im an E-F-F-E-C-T, a smooth operator operating correctly\nAn E-F-F-E-C-T, a smooth operator operating correctly\nE-F-F-E-C-T, a smooth operator operating correctly\nAn E-F-F-E-C-T , a smooth operator operating correctly\nA smooth operator operating correctly\nA smooth operator operating correctly\nA smooth operator operating correctly\nCause Im an E-F-F-E-C-T", "I aint gonna work on Maggies Farm no more\nNo, I aint gonna work on Maggies Farm no more\nWell, I wake up in the morning, fold my hands, and pray for rain\nI got a head full of ideas that are drivin me insane\nIts a shame, the way she makes me\nScrub the floor\nI aint gonna work on, nah\nI aint gonna work on Maggies Farm no more\nI aint gonna work for Maggies brother no more\nNah, I aint gonna work for Maggies brother no more\nWell, he hands you a nickel, and he hands you a dime\nAnd he asks you with a grin, if youre havin a good time\nThen he fines you every time you slam the door\nI aint gonna work for, nah\nI aint gonna work for Maggies brother no more\nI aint gonna work for Maggies pa no more\nNo, I aint gonna work for Maggies pa no more\nWell, he puts his cigar out in your face just for kicks\nHis bedroom window, it is made out of bricks\nThe National Guard .stands around his door\nI aint gonna work for, nah\nI aint gonna work for Maggies pa no more\nI aint gonna work for Maggies ma no more\nNo, I aint gonna work for Maggies ma no more\nWell, she talks to all the servants about man and God and law\nAnd everybody says shes the brains behind ma\nShes sixty-eight but she says shes twenty-four\nI aint gonna work for, nah\nI aint gonna work for Maggies ma no more\nI aint gonna work on Maggies Farm no more\nNo, I aint gonna work on Maggies Farm no more\nWell, I try my best to be just like I am\nBut everybody wants you\nTo be just like them\nThey sing while they slave, and I just get bored\nI aint gonna work on, nah\nI aint gonna work on Maggies Farm no more", "Greed!\nCausing innocent blood to flow\nEntire culture, lost in the overthrow\nThey came to seize and take whatever they please\nThen all they gave back was death and disease\nMy people were left with no choice but to decide\nTo conform to a system, responsible for genocide\nResponsible for genocide\nResponsible for genocide\nAIDS is killing the entire African nation\nAnd a vaccine is still supposedly under preparation\nBut these governments, they dont mind their procrastination\nThey say, Well kill them off, take their land and go there for vacation.\nMy peoples culture was strong, it was pure\nAnd if not for that white greed, it wouldve endured\nMy people were left with no choice but to decide\nTo conform to a system\nTheir minds enslaved, their souls encaged\nI feel the rage, its brutality can never be undone\nBut the sun is not yet set\nThe bass and drums and microphones a threat\nThats when ya investigate the crimes from the inside\nAnd see that theyre responsible for genocide\nResponsible for genocide\nResponsible for genocide\nYa cram ya culture down my throat\nSay Im inferior when I find it I choke\nYou fill my mind with a false sense of history\nAnd then you wonder why I have no identity?\nWell, Ill strike a match and itll catch and\nSpread the insight we need\nA tiny fire, burning bright\nShedding light on the darkness of greed\nA yes yes yall\nAnd ya dont stop\nShedding light on the darkness of greed\nA yes yes yall\nAnd ya dont stop\nShedding light on the darkness of greed\nYeah", "Coolin on the scene like a horse in a stable\nA brother got ill, and tried to snatch a fat cable\nI stepped back, like it wasnt no thing\nI punched him in the jaw with the fat gold ring\nI had an ace in the hole when it came to that\nYo Z, you was packin? You know I was strapped\nPosse kept rollin, it was hard to get with em\nSo I stepped back, and unbuttoned my Lee denim\nThey kept coming, just like I figured\nSo I stepped back, and started sprayin niggas\nWhat a way to go out, out like a sucker\nBut Im on track, like a Long Island train\nThat can head up your mission, suckers who be dissin\nAlways on my jock like a snake always hissing\nGrabbing and tapping me like Luther Vandross\nTake me to the bar for the drink and make a toast\nGivin best wishes to the best MC\nAnd when the spot is blown and yo, you know its me\nBecause Im housin\nCause Im housin\nBecause Im housin\nCause Im housin\nBecause Im housin\nBecause Im housin\nRelate to the matter as I drop the bomb\nCause Im housin\nRelate to the matter as I drop the bomb\nCause Im housin\nRelate to the matter as I drop the bomb\nCause Im housin\nRelate to the matter as I drop the bomb\nCoolin at a party, no better yet disco\nHead feelin mellow from a bottle of Cisco\nMove\nTo crush and fry a sucker MC like Crisco\nGimme the cue, check, one, two\nDont try to come off on me, because you doo-doo\nYou treatin me the Z to the D, like a stepchild\nLet me tell you homeboy, youre livin foul\nMCs, you know who you are\nOn the bandwagon, why Z? Cause you a star\nThis is the year when the jokers are wild\nWhen a fag cant hack it and try to bite your style\nI get hip to the scheme, before it happens\nIf it gets wild, then I start cappin\nBut for now, since everythings calm\nRelate to the matter as I drop the bomb\nBecause Im housin\nCause Im housin\nCause Im housin\nCause Im housin\nBecause Im housin\nCome on\nRelate to the matter as I drop the bomb\nCause Im housin\nRelate to the matter as I drop the bomb\nCause Im housin\nRelate to the matter as I drop the bomb\nBecause Im housin\nRelate to the matter as I drop the bomb\nBecause Im housin\nRelate to the matter, relate to the matter, relate to the matter as I drop the bomb \nRelate to the matter, relate to the matter, relate to the matter as I drop the bomb \nRelate to the matter, relate to the matter, relate to the matter as I drop the bomb \nRelate to the matter, relate to the matter, relate to the matter as I drop the bomb \nCause Im housin\nCause Im housin\nCause Im housin\nCause Im housin", "The hills find peace, locked armed guard posts\nSafe from the screams of the children born as ghosts\nGates, guns and alarms shape the calm of the dawn\nPeering down into the basin where death lives on\nWhen young run foaming at the mouth with hate\nWhen burning batons beat the freezing who shake\nUnder the toxic sunsets they dine and toast\nOf walls deny the terror faced\nBy the children born as ghosts\nBorn as ghosts\nBorn as ghosts\nBorn as ghosts\nBorn as ghosts\nOne book and forty ghosts stuffed in a room\nAh, the school as a tomb\nWhere home is a wasteland, taste the razor wire\nAnd thought is locked in the womb\nThe tales that tear at the myth of the dream\nA suffering that shocks the lives off the screen\nBorn as ghosts\nBorn as ghosts\nBorn as ghosts\nBorn as ghosts\nBorn as ghosts\nBorn as ghosts\nBorn as ghosts\nBorn as ghosts\nBorn as ghosts", "Good evening\nWe want to just quickly send a nice friendly message to the uh\nFraternal Order of Police in Philadelphia\nHeres something nice and friendly\nHeres something nice and friendly\nHeres something nice and friendly\nIt goes something like this\nFuck tha police, comin straight out the underground\nA young nigga got it bad cuz Im brown\nAnd not the other color so police think\nThey have the authority to kill a minority\nFuck that shit, cause I aint the one\nFor a punk muthafucka with a badge and a gun\nTo be beaten on, and thrown in jail\nWe could go toe to toe in the middle of a cell\nFuckin with me cause Im a teenager\nWith a little bit of gold and a pager\nSearchin my car, thinkin every ... is sellin narcotics\nYoud rather see me in the pen\nThan me and Lorenzo chillin in a Benz-o\n... outta shape\nAnd when Im finished, bring the yellow tape\nTo mark off the scene of the slaughter\nNo control of bread and water\nYoung niggas...\nA young nigga on a warpath\nAnd when Im finished, yo, theres gonna be a bloodbath\nOf cops, dyin in L.A\nYo, I got somethin to say\nFuck tha police\nCome on! Off, What?\nFuck tha police\nYeah!\nCome on!\nFuck tha police\nYeah\nFuck tha police, comin straight out the underground\nA young nigga got his badge cause Im brown\nAnd not the other color so police think\nThey have the authority to kill a minority\nFuck that shit, cause I aint the one\nFor a punk muthafucka with a badge and a gun\nTo be beaten on, and thrown in jail\nWe could go toe to toe in the middle of a cell\nFuckin with me cause Im a teenager\nWith a little bit of gold and a pager\nSearchin my car, lookin for the product\nThinkin every nigga is sellin narcotics\nYoud rather see me in the pen\nThen me and Lorenzo chilling in a Benz-o\nBeat the police outta shape\nAnd when Im finished, bring the yellow tape\nTo mark off the scene of the slaughter\nNo control of bread and water\nI dont know if they fags or what\nSearch a nigga down and grabbin his nuts\nAnd on the other hand, a gun they cant get none\nBut dont let it be a black and a white one\nCause theyll slam ya down into the street top\nBlack police showin out for the white cop\nYeah, brothas will swarm\nOn any muthafucka in a blue uniform\nJust cause we in Washington DC\nPunk police are afraid of me\nWord!\nPunk on a warpath\nAnd when Im finished, it be a bloodbath\nOf cops, dyin in L.A\nHey yo, we got somethin to say\nFuck tha police\nCome on! Sing that shit loud\nCome on!\nCome on one more time, here we go, here we go\nCome on, one more, gotta do it\nRight now, yeah, check it out", "Lookin like a bunch of Frat boys at summer camp and shit\nHadda be flashin like the daily double\nHadda be playin on TV\nHadda be loud-mouthed on the comedy hour\nHadda be announced over loud speakers\nThe CIA and the Mafia are in cahoots\nIt hadda be said in old ladies language\nIt hadda be said in American headlines\nKennedy stretched and smiled\nAnd got double-crossed by lowlife goons and agents\nRich bankers with criminal connections\nDope-pushers in CIA working with\nDope-pushers from Cuba working with\nBig time syndicate Tampa, Florida\nIt hadda be said with a big mouth\nIt hadda be moaned over factory foghorns\nIt hadda be chattered on car radio news broadcasts\nIt hadda be screamed in the kitchen\nIt hadda be yelled in the basement where uncles were fighting\nIt hadda be howled on the streets by newsboys to bus conductors\nHadda be foghorned into New York harbor\nHadda echo under hard hats\nHadda turn up the volume in the university ballrooms\nHadda be written in library books, footnoted\nHadda be in the headlines of the Times and Le Monde\nIt hadda be barked over TV\nHadda be heard in side alleys through ballroom doors\nIt hadda be played on wire services\nHadda be bells ringing\nComedians stopped dead in the middle of a joke in Las Vegas\nHadda be FBI chief J. Edgar Hoover\nAnd Frank Costello syndicate mouthpiece\nMeeting in Central Park, New York together weekends\nReported Time magazine\nHadda be the Mafia and the CIA together starting a war on Cuba\nBay of Pigs and poison assassination headlines\nHadda be the dope cops in the Mafia\nSold all that heroin in America\nHadda be the FBI and organized crime working it together in cahoots against the commies\nHadda be ringing on multinational cash registers\nWorld-wide laundry for organized criminal money\nHadda be the CIA and the Mafia and the FBI together\nBigger than Nixon and bigger than war\nHadda be a gorged throat full of murder\nHadda be a mounted ass, a solid mass of rage\nHadda be a red hot head, a scream in the back of the throat\nHadda be in Kissingers brain\nHadda be in Rockefellers mouth\nHadda be the central intelligence, the family, offing the agency Mafia\nOne big set of criminal gangs working together in cahoots\nHitmen, murderers everywhere\nOutrage gonna make secret, drunk, brutal, dirty, and rich\nOn top of a slag heap of prisons\nIndustrial cancer\nPlutonium smog\nGarbage cities, grandmas bedsores\nFathers resentments\nHadda be the rulers\nWanting law and order\nAnd they got rich on wanting protection for the status quo\nWanted junkies\nWanted Attica\nWanted Kent State\nWanted war in Indochina\nYeah\nIt hadda be the CIA and the Mafia and the FBI\nMultinational capitalists\nStrong armed squads\nPrivate detective agencies for the oh so very rich\nAnd their armies, their navies and Air Force bombing planes\nHadda be capitalism\nThe vortex of this rage\nThis competition man to man\nThe horses head in a capitalists bed\nThe Cubans turf in competitions\nHitmen in gang wars across oceans\nBombing Cambodia settled the score\nWith White House pots and pans\nA warning to Mediterranean governments\nThe secret police have braced for decades\nThe NKPD and CIA keep each others secrets\nThe OGBU and DIA never hit their own\nThe KGB and the FBI, one mind\nBrute force and full of money\nOne mind, brute force, and full of money\nOne mind, brute force, and full of money\nOne mind, brute force, and full of money\nOne mind, brute force, and full of money\nAnd full of money\nAnd full of money\nAnd full of money\nIt hadda be rich and they hadda be powerful\nThey hadda murder in Indonesia five hundred thousand\nHadda murder in Indochina two million\nHadda murder in Czechoslovakia\nHadda murder in Chile\nHadda murder in Russia\nAnd hadda murder in America\nThat was a poem by Allen Ginsberg called Hadda Be Playing On The Jukebox. Hes a great poet", "Its a Beautiful world we live in\nA sweet romantic place\nBeautiful people everywhere\nThe way they show they care\nMakes me want to say\nIts a beautiful world\nOh, what a beautiful world\nFor you\nIts a wonderful time to be here\nIts nice to be alive\nWonderful people everywhere\nThe way they comb their hair\nMakes me want to say\nIts a wonderful place\nOh, what a wonderful place\nFor you\nFor you\nFor you\nFor you\nFor you\nFor you\nNot me", "Greed!\nCausing innocent blood to flow\nEntire culture, lost in the overthrow\nThey came to seize and take whatever they please\nThen all they gave back was death and disease\nMy people were left with no choice but to decide\nTo conform to a system, responsible for genocide\nResponsible for genocide\nResponsible for genocide\nAIDS is killing the entire African nation\nAnd a vaccine is still supposedly under preparation\nBut these governments, they dont mind their procrastination\nThey say, Well kill them off, take their land and go there for vacation.\nMy peoples culture was strong\nIt was pure and if not for that white greed\nIt wouldve endured\nMy people were left with no choice but to decide\nTo conform to a system\nTheir minds enslaved, their souls encaged\nI feel the rage\nIts brutality can never be undone\nBut the sun is not yet set\nThe bass and drums and microphones a threat\nThats when ya investigate the crimes from the inside\nAnd see that theyre responsible for genocide\nResponsible for genocide\nResponsible for genocide\nYa cram ya culture down my throat\nSay Im inferior when I find it I choke\nYa fill my mind with a false sense of history\nAnd then you wonder why I have no identity?\nWell Ill strike a match and itll catch and\nSpread the insight we need\nA tiny fire, burning bright\nShedding light on the darkness of greed\nA yes yes yall\nAnd ya dont stop\nShedding light on the darkness of greed\nA yes yes yall\nAnd ya dont stop\nShedding light on the darkness of greed\nYeah!", "Come\nBring it on, bring it on now\nSolo, Im a soloist on a solo list\nAll live, never on a floppy disk\nInka, inka, bottle of ink\nPaintings of rebellion\nDrawn up by the thoughts I think\nOh, come on, oh\nYou see a set up like a deck of cards\nTheyre sending us to early graves for all the diamonds\nThey use a pair of clubs to beat the spades\nWith poetry I paint the pictures that hit\nMore like the murals that fit\nDont turn away, get in front of it\nBrotha, did you forget your name?\nDid you lose it on the wall playin tic-tac-toe?\nYo, check the diagonal, three brothers gone, come on\nDoesnt that make it three in a row?\nYour anger is a gift\nYeah, yeah, yeah\nDrop it\nSista, did you forget your name?\nDid you lose it on the wall playin tic-tac-toe?\nYo, check the diagonal, three million gone, come on\nCause you know theyre counting backwards to zero\nEnvironment, the environment exceeding on the level\nOf our unconsciousness\nFor example what does the billboard say?\nCome and play, come and play, forget about the movement\nForget about yourselfs, forget about your culture\nAnd forget about your history and just fly, and just fly\nYour anger is a gift\nYeah yeah\nBring that shit in\nFreedom for the real\nFreedom for the real\nFreedom for the real\nFreedom for the real\nFreedom for the real\nFreedom for the real\nFreedom, yeah\nFreedom, yeah right\nYeah, freedom, yeah", "You tell me you like the taste\nYou just need an excuse\nYou tell me it calms your nerves\nYou just think it looks cool\nYou tell me you want to be different\nYou just change for the same\nYou tell me its only natural\nYou just need the proof\nDid you fucking get it?\nIts in my eyes, its in my eyes\nIts in my eyes, its in my eyes\nIts in my eyes, its in my eyes\nIts in my eyes, its in my eyes\nAnd it doesnt look that way to me\nIn my eyes\nAnd it doesnt look that way to me\nIn my eyes\nYou tell me that nothing matters\nYoure just fucking scared\nYou tell me that Im better\nYou just hate yourself\nYou tell me that you like her\nYou just wish you did\nYou tell me that I make no difference\nWell, at least Im fucking trying\nWhat the fuck have you done?\nIts in my eyes, its in my eyes\nIts in my eyes, its in my eyes\nIts in my eyes, its in my eyes\nIts in my eyes, its in my eyes\nAnd it doesnt look that way to me\nIn my eyes\nAnd it doesnt look that way to me\nIn my eyes", "Were gonna kick em out\nWell, I feel pretty good\nAnd I guess that I could get crazy now, baby\nWe all got in tune\nWhen the dressing room got hazy\nI know how you want it\nWhen youre hot and tight\nThe girl cant stand it\nWhen you do it right\nWhen youre up on the stand\nLet me kick out the jams\nKick out the jams, were gonna kick em out\nAnd Im startin to sweat\nYou know my shirts all wet\nWhat a feeling now, baby\nThe sound that abound and resounds and rebounds straight off of the ceilin\nYou gotta have it, baby\nYou cant do without\nYou get that feelin, gotta kick em out\nPut that mic in my hand\nAnd let me kick out the jams\nKick out the jams, we gotta kick em out\nAlright, alright, alright, all\nGotta give it up\nYou know you cant get enough, Miss McKenzie\nCause it gets in your brain\nAnd it drives you insane a loopy frenzy\nThe wigglin guitar and a crash on the drums\nWe wanna keep on rockin til the mornin comes\nLet me be who I am\nAnd let me kick out the jams\nYeah, kick out the jams\nI done kicked em out", "This song is called A Bullet in Your Head\nSo get with this\nThis time the bullet cold rocked ya\nA yellow ribbon instead of a swastika\nNothin proper about ya propaganda\nFools follow rules when the set commands ya\nThey said it was blue when ya blood was red, yeah\nThats how ya got a bullet blasted through your head\nBlasted through your head, blasted through your head\nI give a shout out to the living dead\nWho stood and watched as the feds cold centralized\nSo serene on the screen you was mesmerized\nCellular phones soundin a death tone\nCorporations cold turn you to stone before you realize\nThey load the clip in omnicolor\nSaid they pack the 9, they fire it at prime time\nThe sleeping gas, every home was like Alcatraz\nAnd motherfuckers lost their minds\nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say How high? \nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say How high?\nCheck-a, check-a, check this shit out\nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say How high? \nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say How high?\nCheck-a, check-a, check it out\nThey load the clip in omnicolor\nThey pack the 9, they fire it at the prime time\nThe sleeping gas, every home was like Alcatraz\nAnd muthafuckers lost their minds\nNo escape from the mass mind rape\nPlay it again jack and then rewind the tape\nAnd then play it again and again and again\nUntil your mind is locked in\nBelievin all the lies that theyre tellin ya\nBuyin all the products that theyre sellin ya\nThey say jump and you say how high\nYou brain dead? You gotta fuckin bullet in your head?\nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say How high? \nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say How high?\nUh, yeah\nShit, what?\nYour standin in line\nBelievin the lies\nYour bowin down to the flag\nYou got a bullet in your head\nAm I standing in line?\nAm I believin the lies?\nIm bowin down to the flag\nI got a bullet in the head\nA bullet in your head\nA bullet in your head\nA bullet in your head\nA bullet in your head\nA bullet in your head\nA bullet in your head\nA bullet in your head\nA bullet in your head\nA bullet in your head\nA bullet in your head\nA bullet in your head\nA bullet in your head\nA bullet in your head\nA bullet in your head\nA bullet in your head\nYou gotta bullet in your fuckin head\nYeah, yeah!", "Yeah\nPump, pump, whew!\nPump, pump, pump, pump, right\nAir, check it, uh\nLyrical champion, the lyrical champion \nLyrical champion, we say the mindsets a threat \nLyrical champion, the lyrical champion \nLyrical champion, we say the mindsets a threat, uh\nYou know!\nYou know the mindsets a threat\nGo! Go!\nCheck it\nIn the industry, you see, they keep a yellow tape\nGot the microphone because we want to be free\nNever oppress, nor to relay your stress\nMay lack ability, but now youre put to the test \nI run a set in the cool atmosphere\nDont worry about my dumb kicks or the car that I steer\nThat material pressure is just a digressor\nBe livin my life, for they have not yet bothered with pressure, uh\nDrop it!\nEase up!\nBringin in the new lifestyle in 1991 now\nWith the raggamuffin style were bringin it deep, yo\nNow bring it down\nAw, shit\nListen to what Im sayin\nMaterialism Im slayin\nChasin a prediction, know what I mean\nIts the system your obeyin\nThrowin it like a catcher\nYou say what you think, you dancer\nRunnin the free nation\nMoneys not free, if you thinkin you want the answer\nGO!\nI run a set in the cool atmosphere\nDont worry about my dumb kicks or the car that I steer\nThat material pressure is just a digressor\nBe livin my life, for they have not yet bothered with pressure, uh\nYes!\nIn the new sound!\nEase up!", "Zapatas blood\nWasnt spilt in vain\nSo now the most poor, the most poor\nThe most poor wage war, wage war\nTo reclaim their name\nZapatas blood\nWasnt spilt in vain\nSo now the most poor, the most poor\nThe most poor wage war, wage war\nTo reclaim their terrain\nYeah\nOn January first, 1994\nThe indigenous farmers of Southern Mexico\nDeclared war on an unjust\nAnd illegitimate government\nOut of the depths of the most wild, the most poor\nCame a just arm struggle\nFor democracy, justice, and liberty\nAnd it wont stop\nUntil that 65 year old dictatorship\nThe Partido Revolucionario Institucional\nIs buried in the ground\nAnd the peoples voice is heard once again\nYeah\nSo check it out\nOn January first of 94 they became known as a Zapatista movement\nAnd they have a saying\nAnd I want you all to sing along with me real quick\nIt goes something like this\nIt goes:\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nSing that shit\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nCome on!\nYeah!\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves", "Everywhere I hear the sound of marching charging feet, boy\nCause summers here and the time is right for fighting in the street, boy\nTell me. what can a poor boy do\nCept for sing for a rock n roll band?\nCause in this sleepy L.A. town\nTheres just no place for a street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nDo you think the, time is right for a palace revolution\nWhere I live, the game to play is compromise solution\nWell, then what can a poor boy\nCept for sing for a rock n roll band?\nCause in this sleepy L.A. town\nTheres just no place for a street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nWell, what else can a poor boy do?\nWell, what else can a poor boy do?\nWell, what else can a poor boy do?\nWell, what else can a poor boy do?\nHey, my name is, called disturbance\nIll shout and scream, Ill kill the king, Ill rail at all his servants\nWell, what can a poor boy do\nFor sing for a rock n roll band?\nIn this sleepy L.A. town\nTheres just no place for\nFor a street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nFor a street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nFor a street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nFor a street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nFor a street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nFor a street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nA street fighting man\nA street fighting man", "Hey yo, let me be front, this is real and not a stunt\nIm comin to the forefront\nShovel for the rebel and clear the lane\nCause this jam is like a tomahawk, chump\nTeach ya, Ill never stop droppin topics\nVocal power, yes I got it\nOn central but their trying to clamp it down\nFlag was waving the wrong way so I shot it, down!\nGet down at the same time come up, down!\nThis is the crime that shut us up\nI dont give a fuck because the words and the thoughts still hit\nAnd like I said, its not a skit\nJump another hit, yeah\nYa know I dont need a drum kit\nMake em say, Aw shit\nThe rebellion is true and legit\nDown!\nGet down! And clear the lane\nDown!\nGet down! And clear the lane\nDown!\nGet down! And clear the lane\nDown!\nGet down! Yeah!\nThe rebel, youll never disable\nDefiance, with the cards up on the table\nPulling cards, keep the governments in check\nYo! I think we need a new deck\nNever could trust a phillabusta\nThe mic is like a fist and itll bust ya\nWith words cold hittin with the underground\nAnd now youre checkin out the new sound\nLive hit, a live pop\nLive rock and ya dont stop\nIt goes on and on and on\nWhos a threat? Cmon, the war is on!\nStart droppin, our words are never safe\nFighting myself til Im where I gotta be\nA challenge, dont sweat it, now dont you forget it\nCheck me? What? Wait, you better slow down\nRealize I cant confine my rhyme to a beat\nI need cash so pinnacle is never ever weak\nPlaces are fluid and diluted and complete\nCheck me once, calm down, take a seat\nStrip the chains the freedoms there but then its gone!\nUh, clear the lane\nUh, clear the lane\nUh, clear the lane\nUh, clear the lane\nDefiance, rippin up the sound set\nEvery time Im grippin the mic it is a sound threat\nResist against the suckers that bring the bass in\nTimmy C, bring that bass in\nUh, clear the lane\nUh, clear the lane\nUh, clear the lane\nUh, clear the lane", "Down on the street where the faces shine\nFloatin around on a real low mind\nSee a pretty thing in a wall\nSee a pretty thing in a wall\nIn a wall\nIn a wall\nIn a wall\nYeah\nUh\nYeah, deep in the night Im lost in love\nYeah, deep in the night Im lost in love\nA thousand eyes, they look at you\nA thousand eyes, they, they look at you\nOh, come on\nOh, come on\nOh, come on\nYeah, yeah, yeah\nOh, come on\nOh, come on\nOh, come on\nYeah, yeah, yeah\nOh, come on\nOh, come on\nOh, come on\nYeah, yeah, yeah\nOh, come on\nOh, come on\nOh, come on\nYeah\nUh, where faces shine \nA real low mind \nFaces shine \nA real low, a real low, a real low, a real, real low\nOh, come on\nOh, come on\nOh, come on\nYeah, yeah, yeah", "Born with insight and a raised fist\nA witness to the slit wrist, thats with\nAs we move into 92\nStill in a room without a view\nYou got to know, you got to know that when I\nAmp up and amplify defy Im a brother with a furious mind\nAction must be taken\nWe dont need the key, well break in\nSomething must be done\nAbout vengeance, a badge and a gun\nCause Ill rip the mike, rip the stage, rip the system\nI was born to rage against em\nFist in ya face, in the place\nAnd Ill drop the style clearly\nKnow your enemy, know your enemy\nCome on\nWord is born fight the war\nNow Ive got no patience\nSo sick of complacence\nD the E F the I A the N and C the E\nMind of a revolutionary so clear the lane\nThe finger to the land of the chains\nWhat, the land of the free?\nWhoever told you that is your enemy?\nNow something must be done about vengeance, a badge and a gun\nCause Ill rip the mike, rip the stage, rip the system\nI was born to rage against em\nNow action must be taken\nWe dont need the key well break in\nIve got no patience now\nSo sick of complacence now\nAnd Ive got no patience now\nSo sick of complacence now\nIm sick of, sick of, sick of you\nTime has come to pay\nCome on\nCome on\nYes I know my enemies\nTheyre the teachers who taught me to fight me\nYeah compromise, conformity, assimilation\nSubmission, hypocrisy, brutality, the elite\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams", "Born with insight and a raised fist\nA witness to the slit wrist, thats with\nAs we move into 92\nStill in a room without a view\nYa got to know\nYa got to know\nThat when I say go, go, go\nAmp up and amplify\nDefy\nIm a brother with a furious mind\nAction must be taken\nWe dont need the key\nWell break in\nSomething must be done\nAbout vengeance, a badge and a gun\nCause Ill rip the mic, rip the stage, rip the system\nI was born to rage against em\nFist in ya face, in the place\nAnd Ill drop the style clearly, yeah\nKnow your enemy\nKnow your enemy!\nUgh\nCome on\nWord is bond\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nNow I got no patience\nSo sick of complacence\nWith the D the E the F the I the A the N the C the E\nMind of a revolutionary\nSo clear the lane\nThe finger to the land of the chains\nWhat? The land of the free?\nWhoever told you that is your enemy?\nYa got to know\nYa got to know\nThat when I say go, go, go\nAmp up and amplify\nDefy\nIm a brother with a furious mind\nAction must be taken\nWe dont need the key\nWell break in\nKnow your enemy\nYeah\nYouve got to know your enemies\nSomethings got to be done", "Talkin about the American Indian movement\nWell in 1977, after a series of long struggles against the BIA\nGet that spotlight out of my fuckin eye, man\nGet that thing off\nTalkin to people I cant even see em\nIn 1977, after a long series of struggles\nThe Oglala Sioux reservation was under attack by the FBI\nPeople who were involved in the movement there\nInvolved in defending their culture, defending their freedom\nWere bein taken away, were bein kidnapped\nWere bein murdered and one man\nWho happened to be one of the leaders of AIM\nWas thrown in jail\nHe has sat there for 17 years for crimes he did not commit\nHis name is Leonard Peltier, and this brothers been in jail\nAnd has served his people, and has served true freedom\nAnd constitutional rights and is being denied his own\nAnd I think its a hypocrisy all of us need to expose in this country\nSo that if we wanna raise our voice\nFor ourselves in America the same doesnt happen\nWeve got, weve got some pamphlets in the back\nWhere were sellin some shirts\nPlease pick one up, and please send, please, send\nYour name or theres an address you can send or whats his name\nFuckin Dixey Crack Clinton, whoever that fuckin punk is\nLets fill this punks room full of fuckin mail\nI know its not the fuckin most powerful form of fuckin change But lets get this fuckin ball rollin all right\nThis song is called Bombtrack\nOne time for ya fuckin mind, Minnesota\nCheck this shit out\nYeah, it goes a-1, 2, 3\nYeah, its just another bombtrack and suckers be thinkin that they can fade this\nBut, Im gonna drop it at a higher level\nCause Im inclined to stoop down, hand out some beat-downs\nCold run a train on punk hos, that think they run the game\nBut I learned to burn that bridge, and delete\nThose who compete at a level thats obsolete\nInstead, I warm my hands upon the flames of the flag\nTo recall the downfall, and the businesses that burnt us all\nSee through the news and the views, that twist reality\nEnough, I call the bluff, fuck Manifest Destiny\nLandlords and power whores, on my people they took turns\nDispute the suits, I ignite, and then watch em burn\nWith the thoughts from a militant mind\nHardline, hardline after hardline\nLandlords and power whores\nOn my people they took turns\nDispute the suits, I ignite\nAnd then watch em burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nIt goes a\nAnother funky radical bombtrack\nStarted as a sketch in my notebook\nAnd now dope hooks make punks take another look\nMy thoughts ya hear and ya begin to fear\nThat ya card will get pulled if ya interfere\nWith the thoughts from a militant militant mind\nHardline, hardline after mothafuckin hardline\nLandlords and power whores\nOn my people they took turns\nDispute the suits, I ignite\nAnd then watch em burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn", "Drop it\nHey, uh\nTry to crack and somehow react\nVocal snaps attract\nIm trying to rap\nThose who try to subdue the truth\nLose their condition\nWere labelled inactive\nBeing 91\nThe twentieth century\nBrooklyn is a magnum in a bottle of kerosine\nFlame ignites into the black sending fright\nTortured and weak minds\nAnd words and insight\nBack to the explosion on the stage\nGuns fear\nPresence of war creates a dangerous atmosphere\nUsing my brain a certain power is obtained\nUsing the strength Ive gained\nA struggle remains, but I\nChoose another tune to uplift\nYeah, you know my anger is a gift\nA gift to expect the test we all must face\nHah, out my face\nRelease the reason\nAllow the pain\nThe actors change\nBut the plays the same\nCmon\nIn the narrows\nIn the narrows\nIn the narrows\nSome are the holders of power\nBut will start a galactic shower\nTurn to my brother, little power, structure itself\nHate only motivates and creates more hate\nState to state\nI set it straight and investigate\nDull fate\nWhile teachers taught me lessons\nAt the oppression I react with aggression\nYo, my section after section\nNo need for repressing\nJust take the mic and a rap another session\nNo need for guessing\nYeah\nAnd that shit that youre stressin\nRelease the reason\nAlign the pain\nThe actors change\nBut the plays the same\nRelease the reason\nAlign the pain\nThe actors change\nBut the plays the same\nUgh!\nUGH!\nDivine are stepping up and proving to suckas\nThey cannot dumben up their style\nAnd I do it with a smile\nWhen I put punks on trial, taking em back again\nYeah\nThe name of the comprehender\nThe style I drop is going on and on\nTo the punks who recognize the style\nAnd realize that Im not no Punk Kid\nJust stepping up for the mic hit\nUgh!", "Cmon!\nThe A-U-T-O-L-O-G-I-C\nThe A-U-T-O-L-O-G-I-C\nHey\nThe A-U-T-O-L-O-G-I-C\nDrop auto logic\nYou thought you could get with\nMe and Tommy hittin man\nCold dropped a smash hits\nAngry as a veteran\nBack in the force\nCause Im not frontin\nComin upon the stage Ill say ya somethin\nClear as a project\nThe style is hectic\nGuess Im left with\nA system skeptic\nThe truths Im droppin\nFrom the pulpit Im yellin\nInspired by gunshots from a township rebellion\nWord is a rough mix\nSign of justice\nThe rhyme is allowed cause you cant fillibust this\nStyle Ill catch ya\nIll catch ya the rapture\nYa murdered my level head\nYa know that I have to\nDrop auto logic\nYo I got to drop the logic\nDrop auto logic\nYo I got to drop the logic\nAuto logic\nYo I got to drop the logic\nDrop auto logic\nYo I got to drop the logic\nStop before you take a wrong turn\nStop before you step up on the stage and get burned\nStop and just listen\nIm dismissing competition with decisions\nSo I guess youll have to listen and learn\nCreative\nSo what ya gonna do?\nAint no fading\nSo what ya gonna do?\nGrab the microphone and say a check one two\nThe kids solo\nUnafraid of any crew\nCause Im the type of brother with the maddest\nStatus\nStatue or poll\nPaid in full\nNo bull never dull\nAlways in control\nTaking no shit like I was Manute Bol\nUh\nAw yeah\nIt goes a just like that yeah\nNow break it down\nAuto logic\nOn auto pilot\nSilence equals death\nAnd death equals silence\nThe crew that doesnt choose to speak their mind\nIs a crew that looses power over time\nAnd now that ya finally woke up\nYo wish your motherfuckin ass would have spoke up\nVoices in full\nThe balled of the bullet\nThe mic is a trigger and I pull it\nDroppin and smashin\nThrashin and bashin the set\nMentally and spiritually correct\nBack and ya know its a treat\nCause every time I step ya know I wont forget ta\nDrop auto logic\nYo I got to drop the logic\nDrop auto logic\nYo I got to drop the logic\nAuto logic\nYo I got to drop the logic\nDrop auto logic\nYo I got to drop the logic\nAuto logic\nYo I got to drop the logic\nDrop auto logic\nYo I got to drop the logic\nAuto logic\nYo I got to drop the logic\nDrop auto logic\nYo I got to drop the logic\nCome on", "Rebel, rebel and yell\nCause our people still dwell in hell\nLocked in a cell\nYes, the structures a cell\nMad is the story I tell\nHow long can we wait?\nCome on, seein whats at stake\nAction for reaction\nIf your minds in a somewhat complacent state\nGet a check up\nThis is a stick up\nOur freedom or your life\nLord, I wish I could be peacful\nBut there can be no sequel\nNow freedom must be fundamental\nIn Johannesburg or South Central\nOn the mic, cause someone should tell em\nTo kick in the township rebellion\nCome on, ugh\nYeah, what about that sucka\nYeah, so you thought you could get with the hard rhymes\nThat fill your mind\nThoughts, battles fought\nAnd lessons taught\nYes Ill display the fitness\nAnd flip like a gymnast\nCause rhyme after rhyme\nAnd droppin line after line\nYour locked in a test of the mind\nYour style is lagging behind, stuck in 89\nYes Im inclined, Im wearing a blind\nCome to get some in 91\nNo freedom in the land of the free\nIf ya see it then tell me\nNow freedom must be fundamental\nIn Johannesburg or South Central\nOn the mic, cause someone should tell em\nTo kick in the township rebellion\nWhy stand on a silent platform\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nUgh\nCome on\nWhen ignorance reigns, life is lost\nWhen ignorance reigns, life is lost\nCome on\nWhen ignorance reigns, life is lost\nWhy stand on a silent platform\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform\nFight the war, fuck the norm", "One, two\nOne, two, three, yeah!\nInslumnational, underground\nThunder pounds when I stomp the ground \nLike a million elephants and silverback orangutans\nYou cant stop the train\nWho want some? Dont come unprepared\nIll be there, but when I leave there\nBetter be a household name\nWeatherman tellin us it aint gon rain\nSo now we sittin in a drop-top, soakin wet\nIn a silk suit, tryin not to sweat\nHit somersaults without the net\nBut thisll be the year that we wont forget\n1-9-9-9, Anno Domini anything goes\nBe what you wanna be as long as you know\nConsequences are given for livin\nThe fence is too high to jump in jail\nToo low to dig, I might just touch hell—hot\nGet a life now they on sale\nThen I might cast you a spell\nLook at what came in the mail\nA scale and some Arm & Hammer\nSoul gold grill and a baby mama\nBlack Cadillac and a pack of Pampers\nStack of questions with no answers\nCure for cancer, cure for AIDS\nMake a nigga wanna stay on tour for days\nGet back home, things are wrong\nWell, not really, it was bad all along\nBefore you left adds up to a ball of power\nThoughts at a thousand miles per hour\nHello, ghetto, let your brain breathe\nBelieve theres always more, ah\nDont pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang\nBombs over Baghdad\nYeah, dont even bang unless you plan to hit something\nBombs over Baghdad\nDont pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang\nBombs over Baghdad\nYeah, dont even bang unless you plan to hit something\nBombs over Baghdad\nUno, dos, tres, its on\nDid you ever think a pimp rock a microphone?\nLike that there boy and will still stay street\nBig things happen every time we meet\nLike a track team, crack fiend dying to geek\nOutKast bumpin up and down the street\nSlant back Cadillac, bout five niggas deep\n75 MCs freestyling to the beat\nCause we get crunk, stay drunk, at the club\nShouldve bought an ounce, but ya copped a dub\nShouldve held back, but ya threw the punch\nSupposed to meet your girl but ya packed a lunch\nNo D to the U to the G for you\nGot a son on the way by the name of Bamboo\nGot a little baby girl four year, Jordan\nNever turned my back on my kids, there for them\nShouldve hit it, quit it, rag top\nBefore you re-up, get a laptop\nMake a business for yourself, boy, set some goals\nMake a fat diamond out of dusty coals\nRecord number four, but we on a roll\nHold up, slow up, stop, Control\nLike Janet, Planet Stankonias on ya\nMoving like Floyd, comin straight to Florida\nLock all your windows, then block the corridors\nPullin off my belt cause a whippings in order\nLike a three-piece fish before I cut your daughter\nYo quiero Taco Bell, then I hit the border\nPity pat rappers trying to get to five\nIm a microphone fiend tryin to stay alive\nWhen you come to ATL, boy, you better not hide\nCause the Dungeon Family gon ride, high!\nDont pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang\nBombs over Baghdad\nYeah, dont even bang unless you plan to hit something\nBombs over Baghdad\nYeah, dont pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang\nBombs over Baghdad\nYeah, dont even bang unless you plan to hit something\nBombs over Baghdad, yeah\nBombs over Baghdad, yeah\nBombs over Baghdad, yeah\nBombs over Baghdad, yeah\nBombs over Baghdad, yeah\nBob your head, rag top\nBob your head, rag top\nBob your head, rag top\nBob your head, rag top\nBob your head, rag top\nBob your head, rag top\nBob your head, rag top\nBob your head, rag top\nBob your head, rag top\nBob your head, rag top\nBob your head, rag top\nBob your head, rag top\nBob your head, rag top\nBob your head, rag top\nBob your head, rag top \nBob your head, rag top\nDont pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang\nBombs over Baghdad\nYeah, dont even bang unless you plan to hit something\nBombs over Baghdad\nYeah, dont pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang\nBombs over Baghdad\nYeah, dont even bang unless you plan to hit something\nBombs over Baghdad\nDont pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang\nBombs over Baghdad\nYeah, dont even bang unless you plan to hit something\nBombs over Baghdad\nYeah, dont pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang\nBombs over Baghdad\nYeah, dont even bang unless you plan to hit something\nBombs over Baghdad", "The classrooms the last room to get the truth\nI said the classrooms the last room to get the truth\nYeah, the classrooms the last room to get the truth\nYeah, bring that shit in!\nYeah, check this out yall\nAs I kick it like wicked style, uh\nIn the right light, study becomes insight\nBut the system that dissed us, teaches us to read and write\nSo called facts are fraud\nThey want us to allege and pledge and bow down to their God\nLost the culture, the culture lost\nSpun our minds and through time\nIgnorance has taken over\nYo, we gotta take the power back!\nBam! Heres the plan\nMotherfuck Uncle Sam, step back, I know who I am\nRaise up your ear, Ill drop the style and clear\nIts the beats and the lyrics they fear\nThe rage is relentless, we need a movement with a quickness\nYou are the witness of change and to counteract\nWe gotta take the power back\nYeah, we gotta take the power back\nCome on, come on!\nWe gotta take the power back\nThe present curriculum, I put my fist in em\nEurocentric every last one of em\nSee right through the red, white and blue disguise\nWith lecture I puncture the structure of lies\nInstalled in our minds and attempting to hold us back\nWeve got to take it back\nHoles in our spirit causin tears and fears\nOne-sided stories for years and years and years\nIm inferior? Whos inferior?\nYeah, we need to check the interior of the system\nWho cares about only one culture\nAnd that is why we gotta take the power back\nYeah, we gotta take the power back\nCome on, come on!\nWe gotta take the power back\nBreak it down like this\nUh!\nLike this!\nCome on!\nThe teacher stands in front of the class\nBut the lesson plan he cant recall\nThe students eyes dont perceive the lies\nBouncing off every fucking wall\nHis composure is well kept\nI guess he fears playing the fool\nThe complacent students sit and listen to some of that\nBullshit that he learned in school\nEurope aint my rope to swing on\nCant learn a thing from it, yet I hang from it\nGotta get it, gotta get it together then\nLike the motherfuckin weathermen\nTo expose and close the doors on those who try\nTo strangle and mangle the truth\nCause the circle of hatred continues unless we react\nWe gotta take the power back\nWe gotta take the power back\nCome on, come on!\nWe gotta take the power back\nNo more lies\nNo more lies\nNo more lies\nNo more lies\nNo more lies\nNo more lies\nNo more lies\nNo more lies\nYeah! Yeah!\nTake it back yall\nTake it back, a-take it back\nA-take it back yall, come on!\nTake it back yall\nTake it back, a-take it back\nA-take it back yall, come on!\nYeah!", "Some of those that work forces are the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces are the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces are the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces are the same that burn crosses\nUh!\nKilling in the name of\nKilling in the name of\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nBut now you do what they told ya\nWell now you do what they told ya\nThose who died are justified, for wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nYou justify those who died by wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nThose who died are justified, for wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nThose who die are justified by wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nSome of those that work forces are the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces are the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces are the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces are the same that burn crosses\nUh!\nKilling in the name of\nKilling in the name of\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nYou justify those that died by wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nThose who died are justified, for wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nYou justify those that died by wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nThose who died are justified, for wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nCome on!\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nYou justify those that died by wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nThose who died are justified, for wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nYou justify those that died by wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nThose who died are justified, for wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me!\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me!\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me!\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me!\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me!\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me!\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me!\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me!\nMotherfucker!\nUgh!", "A jail cell is freedom from the pain in my home\nHatred passed on passed on and passed on\nA world of violent rage but its one that I can recognize\nHaving never seen the color of my fathers eyes\nYes, I dwell in hell but its a hell that I can grip\nI tried to grip my family but I slipped\nTo escape from the pain in an existence mundane\nI got a nine, a sign, a set, and now I got a name!\nRead my writing on the wall!\nNo ones here to catch me when I fall!\nDeath is on my side!\nSuicide!\nA jail cell is freedom from the pain in my home\nHatred passed on passed on and passed on\nA world of violent rage but its one that I can recognize\nHaving never seen the color of my fathers eyes\nYes, I dwell in hell but its a hell that I can grip\nI tried to grip my family but I slipped\nTo escape from the pain in an existence mundane\nI got a nine, a sign, a set, and now I got a name!\nRead my writing on the wall!\nNo ones here to catch me when I fall!\nCaught between my culture and the system\nGenocide!\nRead my writing on the wall!\nNo ones here to catch me when I fall!\nIf ignorance is bliss\nThen knock the smile off my face!\nYeah!\nIf we dont take action now\nWe settle for nothing later\nSettle for nothing now\nAnd well settle for nothing later\nIf we dont take action now\nWe settle for nothing later\nSettle for nothing now\nAnd well settle for nothing later\nIf we dont take action now\nWe settle for nothing later\nSettle for nothing now\nAnd well settle for nothing later\nIf we dont take action now\nNow, now\nNow, now\nNow, now\nNow, now\nNow, now\nNow, now\nNow, now", "It seems as if soon\nAs the wall in Germany fell\nThat the US government was busy building another one\nAt the border beween the US and Mexico\nSince 1986, as a result of a lot of the hate talk and hysteria\nThat the government of the United States has been speaking\n1,500 bodies have been found at the border\nWe wrote this song in response to it\nIts called Without a Face\nUh, I got no card, so I got not soul\nLife is prison, no parole, no control\nJura got my number on a wire tap\nCause I jack for Similac, fuck a Cadillac\nSurvive, one motive no hope\nCause every sidewalk I walk is like a tightrope\nYes, I know my deadline, sire, when my life expires\nIm sendin paper south under the barbed wire\nThe mother of my child will lose her mind at my grave\nIts my life for their life, so call it a free trade\nPor vida and our name up on the stall\nI took a death trip, when I tried to cross the white wall\nWalk unseen past the graves and the gates\nBorn without a face\nBorn without a face\nWalk unseen past the graves an the gates\nBorn without a face\nOne motive no hope, uh, yeah\nBorn without a face\nWithout a face!\nI tried to look back to my past long lost\nA blood donor to the land owner holocaust\nPops heart stopped, in came the air drop\nFlooded the trench, he couldnt shake the toxic shock\nMaize, was all we needed to sustain\nGolden skin burns, insecticide rain\nYa down with DDT, yeah, you know me\nIm raped for the grapes, profit for the bourgeoisie\nWar tape boomin, path is Luminoso\nIm headed north like my name was Kid Cisco\nTo survive, one motive no hope, uh\nIts hard to breathe with Wilsons hand around my throat, uh\nStrangled and mangled, another SS curtain call\nWhen I tried to cross the white wall\nWhen I tried to cross the white wall\nWalk unseen past the graves and the gates\nBorn without a face!\nOne motive no hope, uh\nWithout a face!\nWalk unseen past the graves and the gates\nBorn without a face!\nOne motive no hope, uh\nWithout a face!\nYou say, fortify\nReaction, you divide\nYou say, fortify\nReaction\nYou say, fortify\nReaction, you divide\nYou say, fortify\nReaction\nRe-Action\nRe-Action\nRe-Action", "Hey check this out right about now\nI wanna introduce a brotha\nThat came all the way out here from the strong island\nNew York\nAnd hes one of the fathers of revolutionary music\nIn our time period\nHe was a huge influence on us and we wanna bring him out right now\nSo check it out\nWe got a man by the name of Chuck D, from Public Enemy\nYeah\nWassup, wassup!\nWassup, wassup!\nWassup, wassup!\nWassup, wassup!\nYo, yo, yo, yo, yo\nIm with Rage on the stage and I back Zack\nTim on the bass, Tom in your face\nWe got Brad on the drums, can you get some?\nDrummer in the ? can you get some?\nPump pump on my lap at all times\nWe murder the boom-bap\nThis is the rage in your ear\nHere ye, here ye\nThe crowd so near me, but you still dont hear me\nI got a letter from the government\nThe other day\nI opened and read it\nIt said they were suckers\nThey wanted me for the army or whatever\nPicture me given a damn - I said never\nHere is a land that never gave a damn\nAbout a brother like me and myself\nBecause they never did\nI wasnt wit it, but just that very minute it\nOccurred to me\nThe suckers had authority\nCold sweatin as I dwell in my cell\nHow long has it been?\nThey got me sittin in the state pen\nI gotta get out, but that thought was thought before\nI contemplated a plan on the cell floor\nIm not a fugitive on the run\nBut a brother like me begun to be another one\nPublic enemy servin time, they drew the line yall\nTo criticize me for some crime\nNever the less they could not understand that Im a black man\nAnd I could never be a veteran\nOn the strength, the situations unreal\nI got a raw deal, Zack, so Im lookin for the steel\nPeace yall\nCmon yall, give it up for Chuck D!\nYeah!\nYeah!\nYeah!", "Uggh!\nPull, pull\nYeah\nSolo, Im a soloist on a solo list\nAll live, never on a floppy disk\nInka, inka, bottle of ink\nPaintings of rebellion\nDrawn up by the thoughts I think\nCome on\nBrotha, did ya forget ya name?\nDid ya lose it on the wall\nPlayin tic-tac-toe?\nYo, check the diagonal\nThree brothers gone\nCome on\nDoesnt that make it three in a row?\nAnger is a gift\nHey\nYes, aw yeah\nUgh!\nCheck that!\nUgh!\nCome on\nYeah\nUgh\nDrop it\nBrotha, did ya forget ya name?\nDid ya lose it on the wall\nPlayin tic-tac-toe?\nYo, check the diagonal\nThree brothers gone\nCome on\nDoesnt it make three in a row\nEnvironment\nThe environment exceeding on the level\nOf our unconsciousness\nFor example\nWhat does the billboard say\nCome and play, come and play\nForget about the movement\nAnger is a gift\nUgh!\nHey\nBring that shit in\nUgh!\nHey!\nFreedom, yeah\nFreedom yeah right\nFreedom yeah!\nFreedom!\nYeah!\nFreedom!\nYeah right!\nFreedom!\nYeah!\nFreedom!\nYeah!\nRight!", "Ughh!\nHey yo, its just another bombtrack ughh!\nCome on, hey yo, its just another bombtrack ugh\nIt goes a-one, two, three\nAnd its just another bomb track\nAnd suckas be thinkin that they can fade this\nBut Im gonna drop it at a higher level\nCause Im inclined to stoop down\nHand out some beat-downs\nCold runna train on punk hos that\nThink they run the game\nBut I learned to burn that bridge and delete\nThose who compete at a level thats obsolete\nInstead I warm my hands upon the flames of the flag\nAs I recall our downfall\nAnd the business that burned us all\nSee through the news and the views that twist reality\nEnough, I call the bluff, fuck manifest destiny\nLandlords and power whores\nOn my people they took turns\nDispute the suits I ignite\nAnd then watch em burn\nWith the thoughts from a militant mind\nHardline, hardline after hardline\nLandlords and power whores\nOn my people they took turns\nDispute the suits I ignite\nAnd then watch em burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nIt goes a one, two, three\nAnother funky radical bombtrack\nStarted as a sketch in my notebook\nAnd now dope hooks make punks take another look\nMy thoughts ya hear and ya begin to fear\nThat ya card will get pulled if ya interfere\nWith the thoughts from a militant mind\nHardline, hardline after hardline\nLandlords and power whores\nOn my people they took turns\nDispute the suits I ignite\nAnd then watch em burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes ya gonna burn\nBurn!", "Earth shares what Earth receives\nAnd now only blood brings life\nA tiller bring life, producer bring life\nProtector bring life, soiled hands bring life\nThe tree of democracy shall be watered by the blood of revolution\nSo go plant a seed, go plant a seed for harvest\nGo plant a seed for harvest producer\nProducer, producer, producer, producer\nProducer, producer, producer, producer\nProducer, producer, producer, producer\nProducer, producer, producer, producer\nProducer, producer, producer, producer\nProducer, producer\nAnd it all shall fall by the grace of the people and\nIt all shall fall by the grace of the people and\nIt all shall fall by the grace of the people and\nIt all shall fall by the grace of the people and\nIt all shall fall\nIt all shall fall\nI first met you and the ideas you uphold while incarserated A victim of a social experiment\nEventually addicted to your eight hour injections of hypocracy and arrogance and greed\nForced to sit with coplicity in front of my executioners\nAs they blugeoned me with their so called superior values and demanded my submission\nI bacame an indentured servant in a factory\nWhere I myself was the product\nWhos useful quality was to protect their palaces\nEvery word uttered from their mouths strangeled me\nSo that every thought I express\nShall sow the seed for the noose around their necks\nAnd set fire to their homes\nAnd every word uttered from their mouths strangeled me\nSo that every thought I express\nShall sow the seed for the noose around their necks\nAnd set fire to their homes\nAnd set fire to their homes\nAnd set fire to their homes\nAnd set fire to their homes\nAnd set fire to their homes\nAnd it all shall fall by the grace of the people and\nIt all shall fall by the grace of the people and\nIt all shall fall by the grace of the people and\nIt all shall fall by the grace of the people and\nIt all shall fall by the grace of the people and\nIt all shall fall\nFall\nFall\nFall\nFall\nFall\nFall\nFall\nFall", "In the right light, study becomes insight\nBut the system that dissed us\nTeaches us to read and right\nSo called facts are fraud\nThey want us to allege and pledge\nAnd bow down to their God\nLost the culture, the culture lost\nSpun our minds and through time\nIgnorance has taken over\nYo, we gotta take the power back!\nBam! Heres the plan\nMotherfuck Uncle Sam\nStep back, I know who I am\nRaise up your ear, Ill drop the style and clear\nIts the beats and the lyrics they fear\nThe rage is relentless\nWe need a movement with a quickness\nYou are the witness of change\nAnd to counteract\nWe gotta take the power back\nYeah, take the power back\nCome on, come on!\nWe gotta take the power back\nThe present curriculum\nI put my fist in em\nEurocentric every last one of em\nSee right through the red, white and blue disguise\nWith lecture I puncture the structure of lies\nInstalled in our minds and attempting\nTo hold us back\nWeve got to take it back\nHoles in our spirit causin tears and fears\nOne-sided stories for years and years and years\nIm inferior? Whos inferior?\nYeah, we need to check the interior\nOf the system that cares about only one culture\nAnd that is why\nWe gotta take the power back\nWe gotta take the power back\nCome on, come on!\nWe gotta take the power back\nAh yeah were gonna break it down\nAw shit!\nUgh!\nDont stop, and ya dont stop\nUgh\nLike this, come on\nUgh\nThe teacher stands in front of the class\nBut the lesson plan he cant recall\nThe students eyes dont perceive the lies\nBouncing off every fucking wall\nHis composure is well kept\nI guess he fears playing the fool\nThe complacent students sit and listen to some of that\nBullshit that he learned in school\nWhat about that, the system ?\nCome on\nWe gotta take the power back\nWe gotta take the power back\nCome on, come on!\nWe gotta take the power back\nNo more lies\nUgh! Come on, ugh\nCheck it\nTake it back yall\nTake it back, a-take it back\nA-take it back yall, come on!\nTake it back yall\nTake it back, a-take it back\nA-take it back yall, come on!\nUgh!\nYeah!", "Yeah, its just another bombtrack\nAnd suckers be thinkin that they can fade this\nBut, Im gonna drop it at a higher level\nCause Im inclined to stoop down, hand out some beat-downs\nCold run a train on punk hos, that think they run the game\nBut I learned to burn that bridge, and delete\nThose who compete, at a level thats obsolete\nInstead, I warm my hands upon the flames of the flag\nTo recall the downfall, and the businesses that burnt us all\nSee through the news and the views, that twist reality\nEnough, I call the bluff, fuck Manifest Destiny\nThe landlords and power whores, on my people they took turns\nDispute the suits, I ignite, and then watch em burn\nWith the thoughts from a militant mind\nHardline, hardline after hardline\nThe landlords and power whores on my people they took turns\nDispute the suits, I ignite and I watch em burn\nWatch em burn\nAnother funky radical bombtrack\nStarted as a sketch in my notebook\nYeah now dope hooks make punks take another look\nMy thoughts ya hear and ya begin to fear\nThat ya card will get pulled if you interfere\nWith the thoughts from a militant militant mind\nHardline, hardline after hardline\nThe landlords and power whores on my people they took turns\nDispute the suits, I ignite, then I watch em burn\nWatch em burn\nYeah watch them burn\nWatch em burn\nYeah I tried to look back to my past long lost\nA blood donor to the land owner Holocaust\nPops heart stopped, in came the air drop\nFlooded the trench, couldnt shake the toxic shock\nMaize, was all we needed to sustain\nNow her golden skin burns, insecticide rain\nYa down wit DDT - yeah, you know me\nIm raped for the grapes, and the profit for the bourgeoisie\nWar tape boomin, path is Luminoso\nIm headed north like my name was Kid Cisco\nTo survive, just a prophet lost and learned\nI got to break em off and watch em burn\nWatch em burn", "Huh\nYeah, were comin back in with another bomb track\nThink ya know its all of that, huh\nAyyo, so check this out, yeah\nKnow your enemy\nCmon\nBorn with insight and a raised fist\nA witness to the slit wrist\nAs we, move into 92\nStill in a room without a view\nYa got to know, ya got to know\nThat when I say go, go, go\nAmp up and amplify, defy\nIm a brother with a furious mind\nAction must be taken\nWe dont need the key, well break in\nSomething must be done\nAbout vengeance, a badge and a gun\nCause Ill rip the mic, rip the stage, rip the system\nI was born to rage against em\nFist in ya face in the place and Ill drop the style clearly\nKnow your enemy\nKnow your enemy\nYeah\nAyyo, get with this, ugh\nWord is born\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nNow I got no patience\nSo sick of complacence\nWith the D, the E, the F, the I, the A, the N, the C, the E\nMind of a revolutionary, so clear the lane\nThe finger to the land of the chains\nWhat? The land of the free?\nWhoever told you that is your enemy\nNow something must be done\nAbout vengeance, a badge and a gun\nCause Ill rip the mic, rip the stage, rip the system\nI was born to Rage Against em\nNow action must be taken\nWe dont need the key, well break in\nIve got no patience now\nSo sick of complacence now\nIve got no patience now\nSo sick of complacence now\nSick of, sick of, sick of, sick of you\nTime has come to pay\nKnow your enemy\nCmon\nYes, I know my enemies!\nTheyre the teachers who taught me to fight me\nCompromise, conformity, assimilation, submission\nIgnorance, hypocrisy, brutality, the elite\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams", "This time the bullet cold rocked ya\nA yellow ribbon instead of a swastika\nNothin proper about ya propaganda\nFools follow rules when the set commands ya\nSaid it was blue\nWhen ya blood was read\nThats how ya got a bullet blasted through ya head\nBlasted through ya head\nBlasted through ya head\nI give a shout out to the living dead\nWho stood and watched as the feds cold centralized\nSo serene on the screen\nYou were mesmerized\nCellular phones soundin a death tone\nCorporations cold\nTurn ya to stone before ya realize\nThey load the clip in omnicolour\nSaid they pack the nine, they fire it at prime time\nSleeping gas, every home was like Alcatraz\nAnd mutha fuckas lost their minds\nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say how high\nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say how high\nRun it!\nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say how high\nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say how high\nChecka, checka, check it out\nThey load the clip in omnicolour\nSaid they pack the nine, they fire it at prime time\nSleeping gas, every home was like Alcatraz\nAnd mutha fuckas lost their minds\nNo escape from the mass mind rape\nPlay it again jack and then rewind the tape\nAnd then play it again and again and again\nUntil ya mind is locked in\nBelievin all the lies that theyre tellin ya\nBuyin all the products that theyre sellin ya\nThey say jump and ya say how high\nYa brain-dead\nYa gotta fuckin bullet in ya head\nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say how high\nJust victims of the in-house drive-by\nThey say jump, you say how high\nUggh! Yeah! Yea!\nYa standin in line\nBelievin the lies\nYa bowin down to the flag\nYa gotta bullet in ya head\nYa standin in line\nBelievin the lies\nYa bowin down to the flag\nYa gotta bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head\nA bullet in ya head!\nA bullet in ya head!\nA bullet in ya head!\nA bullet in ya head!\nA bullet in ya head!\nA bullet in ya head!\nA bullet in ya head!\nYa gotta bullet in ya fuckin head!\nYeah!\nYeah!", "Here we go\n9-5 is the blood for your sweat\nPay the landlord, hes taking your blood for the rent\nYo\nThe balance dead so a bullets what I get\nWhen my Mao-Say-Tung gets offensive like Tet\nThe whip snapped my back\nMy spine cracked\nFor tobacco\nIm the Marlboro man\nCan I make London bridges fall\nIf they do me like Mumia Abu-Jamal\nNobody move\nNobody move\n86 Philly pigs drive a whole city block\nAnd Im campin like Hampton\nRead the word of the innocent\nYet death row is locked\nCapitol-i-ism\nCheck the wrong rhythm\nAnd so they say let Saigons be Saigons\nBut wait a Ho-Chi-minute\nWaste the day cause the night brings a hearse\nMake a move and plead the fifth\nYa cant plead the first\nAre you ready to testify?\nGet ready to testify\nAre you ready to testify?\nGet ready to testify\nThe revolutionary aesthetic\nBlack leather, beret and powder blue\nHowever meanacing this human form on the outside looks\nWithout revolutionary action\nIts ever so translucent\nI stand admist grandeous gestures\nPostures and platforms of romanticism\nCreating more noise than answers\nCreating more noise than the sirens\nThat keep our children crouched in corners\nI sit and watch us do the blind mans dance\nAnd I cant stand the smell of false composure\nSo I take a Ho-Chi minute to meditate\nAnd think\nAnd then tune to the word of Jose Matin\nDoing is the best way of saying\nDoing is the best way of saying\nDoing is the best way of saying\nDoing is the best way of saying\n9-5 is the blood for your sweat\nPay the landlord, hes taking your blood for the rent Yo\nThe balance dead so a bullets what I get\nWhen my Mao-Say-Tung gets effective like tet\nThe whip snap my back\nMy spine crack\nFront to back\nOhhh what a Marlboro man\nCan I make London bridges fall\nIf they do me like Mumia Abu-Jamal\nNobody move\nNobody move\n86 Philly pigs drive a whole city block\nAnd Im campin like Hampton\nRead the word of the innocent\nYet death row is locked\nCapitol-i-ism\nCheck the wrong rhythm\nAnd so they say let Saigons be Saigons\nBut wait a Ho-Chi-minute\nWaste the day cause the night brings a hearse\nMake a move and plead the fifth\nYa cant plead the first\nAre you ready to testify?\nGet ready to testify\nAre you ready to testify?\nGet ready to testify\nCmon\nDoing is the best way of saying\nDoing is the best way of saying", "Come with it now\nCome with it now\nThe microphone explodes, shattering the mold\nEither drop the hits like de la O or get the fuck off the commode\nWith the sure shot, sure to make the bodies drop\nDrop and dont copy, yo, dont call this a co-op\nTerror rains drenchin, quenchin the thirst\nOf the power dons, that five-sided Fistagon\nThe rotten sore on the face of Mother Earth gets bigger\nThe trigger’s cold, empty your purse\nRally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nWeapons, not food, not homes, not shoes\nNot need, just feed the war, cannibal animal\nI walk the corner to the rubble, that used to be a library\nLine up to the mind cemetery now\nWhat we dont know keeps the contracts alive and movin\nThey dont gotta burn the books, they just remove em\nWhile arms warehouses fill as quick as the cells\nRally round the family, pockets full of shells\nRally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nBulls on parade, uh\nCome with it now\nCome with it now\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade", "Some of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nBut I wont do what you tell me\nNow youre under control\nThose who died are justified for\nWearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nYou justified those that died by\nWearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nThose who died are justified for\nWearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nKilling in the name\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nBut you, youre under control\nNow you do what they told\nThose who died are justified for\nWearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nYou justified those that died by\nWearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nThose who died are justified for\nWearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nKilling in the name\nMotherfucker", "Come with it now!\nCome with it now!\nThe microphone explodes, shattering the mold\nEither drop the hits like de la O or get the fuck off the commode\nWith the sure shot, sure to make the bodies drop\nDrop and dont copy, yo, dont call this a co-op\nTerror rains drenchin, quenchin the thirst\nOf the power dons, that five-sided Fistagon\nThe rotten sore on the face of Mother Earth gets bigger\nThe trigger’s cold, empty your purse\nRally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nWeapons, not food, not homes, not shoes\nNot need, just feed the war, cannibal animal\nI walk the corner to the rubble, that used to be a library\nLine up to the mind cemetery, now\nWhat we dont know keeps the contracts alive and movin\nThey dont gotta burn the books, they just remove em\nWhile arms warehouses fill as quick as the cells\nRally round the family, pockets full of shells\nRally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nBulls on parade! Uh...\nCome with it now\nCome with it now\nBulls on parade!\nBulls on parade!\nBulls on parade!\nBulls on parade!\nBulls on parade!\nBulls on parade!", "Zapatas blood\nWasnt spilt in vain\nSo now the most poor, the most poor\nThe most poor wage war, wage war\nTo reclaim their name\nZapatas blood\nWasnt spilt in vain\nSo now the most poor, the most poor\nThe most poor wage war, wage war\nTo reclaim their terrain\nYeah\nOn January first, 1994\nThe indigenous farmers of Southern Mexico\nDeclared war on an unjust\nAnd illegitimate government\nOut of the depths of the most wild, the most poor\nCame a just arm struggle\nFor democracy, justice, and liberty\nAnd it wont stop\nUntil that 65 year old dictatorship\nThe Partido Revolucionario Institucional\nIs buried in the ground\nAnd thе peoples voice is hеard once again\nYeah\nSo check it out\nOn January first of 94 they became known as a Zapatista movement\nAnd they have a saying\nAnd I want you all to sing along with me real quick\nIt goes something like this\nIt goes:\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nSing that shit\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nCome on!\nYeah!\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves\nEverything for everyone and nothing for ourselves", "Buenas noches, nosotros estamos, Rabia contra la maquina de Los Angeles, California\nThe movie ran through me\nThe glamour subdue me\nThe tabloid untied me\nIm empty. please fill me\nMister Anchor, assure me\nThat Baghdad is burning\nYour voice, it is so soothing\nThat cunning mantra of killing\nI need you, my witness\nTo dress this up so bloodless\nTo numb me and purge me now\nOf thoughts of blaming you\nYes, the car is our wheelchair\nMy witness, your coughing\nOily silence mocks the legless\nWho travel now in coffins\nThe jurys sleepless\nWe found your weaknеss\nAnd its right outside your door\nNow testify\nTestify\nIts right outsidе your door, testify\nTestify\nWith precision you feed me\nMy witness, Im hungry\nYour temple, it calms me, so I can carry on\nMy slaving, sweating the skin right off my bones\nOn a bed of fire, Im choking on the smoke that fills my home\nThe wrecking ball is rushing\nWitness your blushing\nPipelines is gushing\nWhile here we lie in tombs\nWhile on the corner\nThe jurys sleepless\nWe found your weakness\nAnd its right outside your door\nNow testify\nTestify\nIts right outside your door\nTestify\nNow testify\nMass graves for the pump when the price is set\nWhen the price is set\nMass graves for the pump when the price is set\nWhen the price is set\nMass graves for the pump when the price is set\nWhen the price is set\nMass graves for the pump when the price is set\nWhen the price is set\nWho controls the past now controls the future\nWho controls the present now controls the past\nWho controls the past now controls the future\nWho controls the present now?\nNow testify\nTestify\nIts right outside your door\nTestify\nNow testify\nIts right outside your door", "Made You Go Down Rodeo", "Killing in the name of\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nUh!\nKilling in the name of\nKilling in the name of\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nBut now you do what they told ya!\nWell, now you do what they told ya\nThose who died are justified\nFor wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nYou justify those that died\nBy wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nThose who died are justified\nFor wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nYou justify those that died\nBy wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nUh!\nKilling in the name of\nKilling in the name of\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\n And now you do what they told ya\n And now you do what they told ya\n And now you do what they told ya\n And now you do what they told ya\n And now you do what they told ya\n And now you do what they told ya\n And now you do what they told ya\nThose who died are justified\nFor wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nYou justify those that died\nBy wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nThose who died are justified\nFor wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nYou justify those that died\nBy wearing the badge, theyre the chosen whites\nCome on!\nUgh!\nYeah!\nCome on!\nUgh!\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nFuck you, I wont do what you tell me\nMotherfucker!\nUgh!", "Oh shit\nCome on\nCall that shit up\nPump that shit up\nYeah\nSince fifteen hundred and sixteen, Mayans attacked and overseen\nCrawl amidst the ruins of this empty dream\nWith their borders and boots on top of us\nPullin knobs on the floor of their toxic metropolis\nHow you gonna get what you need to get?\nThe gut eaters, blood drenched get offensive like Tet\nThe fifth sun sets get back reclaim\nThe spirit of Cuauhtémoc, alive and untamed\nFace the funk now blastin out your speaker\nOn the one, Maya, Mexica\nThat vulture came to try and steal your name but now you got a gun\nYeah, this is for the people of the sun\nIts comin back around again\nThis is for the people of the sun\nIts comin back around again\nIts comin back around again\nThis is for the people of the sun\nIts comin back around again\nDont ever forget that the whip snapped ya back\nYour spine cracked for tobacc-oh, Im the Marlboro Man, uh\nOur past blastin on through the verses\nBrigades of taxi cabs rollin Broadway like hearses\nTroops strippin zoots, shots of red mist\nSailors blood on the deck, come sister, resist\nThe era of terror, check this photo lens\nNow the City of Angels does the ethnic cleanse, uh\nHeads bobbin to the funk out your speaker\nOn the one, Maya, Mexica\nThat vulture came to try and steal your name but now you found a gun\nYoure history\nThis is for the people of the sun\nIts comin back around again\nThis is for the people of the sun\nIts comin back around again, why, why\nIts comin back around again\nThis is for the people of the sun\nIts comin back around again\nIts comin back around again\nThis is for the people of the sun\nIts comin back around again, \nIts comin back around again\nThis is for the people of the sun\nIts comin back around, yeah\nOf the sun", "We dont have to play\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what, do what\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what, do what\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what, do what\nWe dont have to play\nWe dont have to play\nFuck you I wont do what you tell me\nKilling in the name of\nSome of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses\nUgh!\nKilling in the name of\nKilling in the name of\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nNow you do what they told ya\nWe dont have to play\nWe dont have to play\nFuck you I wont do what you tell me\nWe dont have to play\nWe dont have to play", "Yeah\nThe world is my expense\nThe cost of my desire\nJesus blessed me with its future\nAnd I protect it with fire\nSo raise your fists and march around\nJust dont take what you need\nIll jail and bury those committed\nAnd smother the rest in greed\nCrawl with me into tomorrow\nOr Ill drag you to your grave\nIm deep inside your children\nTheyll betray you in my name\nHey, hey\nSleep now in the fire\nThe lie is my expense\nIts the cost of my desire\nThe party blеssed me with its future\nAnd I protеct it with fire\nI am the Niña, the Pinta, the Santa Maria\nThe noose and the rapist, the fields overseer\nThe agents of orange, priests of Hiroshima\nSleep now in the fire\nSleep now in the fire\nHey, hey\nSleep now in the fire\nHey, hey\nSleep now in the fire\nFor its the end of history\nIts caged and frozen still\nThere is no other pill to take\nSo swallow the one that makes you ill\nThe Niña, the Pinta, the Santa Maria\nThe noose and the rapist, the fields overseer\nThe agents of orange, the priests of Hiroshima\nSleep now in the fire\nSleep now in the fire\nSleep now in the fire\nSleep now in the fire\nSleep now in the fire", "Just bounce to this\nEverybody just bounce to this\nAint no funk, its funky, its Doggystyle\nAint no funk, its funky, its Doggystyle\nShucks, stomping in my big blue chucks\nMore bounce to the ounce while Im ditching you klutz \nBump-bump-bump-bump while youre bumping your sounds\nIts the zoo and the Pound we dont eff around\nRelax your mind and let your conscience be free\nAnd get down, stomping grounds is the LBC\nI slid up out the game and MCs get wacked\nBut now Im back , so go get your strap\nWatch your head, I break bread\nWit Gs, Muslims, hard-heads and dreds\nBounce, rock while rollerskating\nOn them 20 inch tires with the platinum Daytons\nIm not that BG popping all that junk\nAbout Ill touch you up, he sound like a punk\nI been there and done that, no inspiration\nAll day demonstration beat conversation\nAint no funk, its funky, its Doggystyle\nAint no funk, its funky, its Doggystyle\nI keep brothers in the studio, word is bond\nBeen working on ya new album for two years strong\nAnd still cant come up with the right song\nYou know what they say:Study long, study wrong\nAll aboard the train so come along\nCos we keep the glue stuck against the bone\nIts alright aint no room for wrong\nDoggyland is the motherland, make yourself at home\nI got money loads by the barrels\nI even got a few fans thats crazy like DeNiro\nIm international money maker, player hater\nShake up for the sake of spending dollars and I always holler\nAt a player though cos players know the real from the fake\nYou can put that on your toast, your coast and your state\nI give you people what you like\nWhat I look like in jail and cant get on the mic\nAint no funk, its funky, its Doggystyle\nAint no funk, its funky, its Doggystyle\nSnoop, come bounce to this\nSnoop, come bounce to this\nSnoop, come bounce to this\nKilling up crews, give em the real street blues\nHave em sliding in their eel-skins, grooving in their tennis shoes\nOf course it dont stop being a Westside ridah\nWit no tattoos thats how they got you\nI lay conversation on wax and CDs\nBGs and originals, here come the mission\nMaking biters ride the Pound for the rest of the season\nDoggy DPG ya lil homey\nLook, I represent the LBC-ment\nWindows tint, fool thats the president\nI hit you with a tune every blue moon\nCollard on your plate so you can stuff it in your face\nOoh, say your Grace before you touch your plate\nIt taste like its laced but it aint\nThis one puff uncut, no doubt\nEverybody know I gotta ounce in the house\nAint no funk, its funky, its Doggystyle\nAint no funk, its funky, its Doggystyle\nSnoop, come bounce to this\nSnoop, come bounce to this\nSnoop, come bounce to this\nSnoop\nDeath row. 1-9-9-7. Snoop D-O-double G. Rage Against the Machine\nRock and roll hip hop\nYou thought Id fall off. Ill fall off into this dope-ass rock and\nRoll track. Yknow?\nCharlie Wilson. Bow down\nAw yeah\nThis is crackin yall. This how we doin it\nYou know\nBiatch!\nBounce to this\nBounce to this\nBounce to this\nBounce to this\nWhen I say Bow, you say Wow\nBow \nBow \nBow \nBow \nBow \nAnd you dont stop\nDeath Row\nHahahahaha\nHow you like dem apples?\nDPG, Rage Against the Machine\nRoc N Roll\nDem \nWhat difference do it make?\nJust bounce to this", "Transmission, third World War, third round\nA decade of the weapon of sound above ground\nNo shelter if youre looking for shade\nI lick shots at the brutal charade\nAs the polls close like a casket\nOn truth devoured, silent play on the shadow of power\nA spectacle, monopolized\nThe cameras eyes on choice disguised\nWas it cast for the mass who burn and toil?\nOr for the vultures who thirst for blood and oil?\nYes a spectacle, monopolized\nThey hold the reins, stole your eyes\nFistagons, thе bullets and bombs\nWho stuff the banks and staff the party ranks\nMorе for Gore or the son of a drug lord\nNone of the above, fuck it, cut the cord!\nLights out, guerrilla radio\nTurn that shit up\nLights out, guerrilla radio\nCome on\nLights out, guerrilla radio\nTurn that shit up\nLights out, guerrilla radio\n, I hijacked the frequencies\nBlockin the beltway, move on DC\nWay past the days of bombin MCs\nSound off, Mumia, go on, be free\nWho got em? Check the federal file\nAll you pen devils know the trial was vile\nArmy of pigs try to silence my style\nOff em all out the box, its my radio dial\nLights out, guerrilla radio\nTurn that shit up\nLights out, guerrilla radio\nLights out, guerrilla radio\nTurn that shit up\nLights out, guerrilla radio\nIt has to start somewhere\nIt has to start sometime\nWhat better place than here?\nWhat better time than now?\nAll hell cant stop us now\nAll hell cant stop us now\nAll hell cant stop us now\nAll hell cant stop us now\nAll hell cant stop us now", "Every official that comes in, cripples us, leaves us maimed\nSilent and tamed\nAnd with our flesh and bones, he builds his homes\nSouthern fist, rise through the jungle mist\nClenched to smash power so cancerous\nA black flag and a red star\nA rising sun loomin over Los Angeles\nYes, for Raza livin in La La\nLike Gaza on to the dawn of Intifada\nReach for the lessons the masked pass on\nAnd seize the metropolis, its you its built on\nEverything can change on a new years day\nEverything can change on a nеw years day\nEverything can change on a nеw years day\nAnd everything changed on a new years day\nCome on\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land\nTheir existence is a crime\nTheir seat, their robe, their tie\nTheir land deeds, their hired guns\nTheyre the crime\nShots heard underground round the rapture\nThe worlds eye captured at last in a Mexican pasture\nThe masked screaming land or death\nWithin a breath, a war from the depth of time\nWho shot four puppet governors in a line\nWho shook all the world bankers who think they can rhyme\nShot the landlords who knew it was mine\nYes, its a war from the depth of time\nEverything can change on a new years day\nEverything can change on a new years day\nEverything can change on a new years day\nEverything can change on a new years day\nCome on\nUgh, hear the masked scream\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nIts land or death\nYeah, uh\nCome on\nCome on\nYes, yes\nYes\nIts war within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death\nWar within a breath\nIts land or death", "My fears hunt me down\nCapturing my memories\nThe frontier of loss\nThey try to escape across the street where\nJesus stripped bare\nAnd raped the spirit He was supposed to nurture\nIn the name of my\nIn the name of my\nBorn of a broken man, but not a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, never a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, but not a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, never a broken man\nLike autumn leaves his sense fell from him\nAn empty glass of himself shattered somewhere within\nHis thoughts like a hundred moths\nTrapped in a lampshade\nSomewhere within\nTheir wings banging and burning\nOn through endless night\nForever awake he lies shaking and starving\nPraying for someone to turn off the light\nBorn of a broken man, never a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, but not a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, never a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, but not a broken man\nMy fear is hunting me down\nCapturing my memories\nThe frontier of loss\nThey try to escape across the street where\nJesus stripped bare\nAnd raped the spirit He was supposed to nurture\nIn the name of my\nIn the name of my\nBorn of a broken man, but not a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, never a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, but not a broken man\nBorn of a broken man, never a broken man", "Unintelligible Screaming\nOoh Ooh Ooh Ooh Ahhh\nEeeeeeeeeEE EEEEEEeeeaaaAAA AAAAAAaaa\nRiders on my motorcycle\n[Sammy O}\nRib-bib-bib-bub\nRib-bub-bub-bibib\nRib Rib Rib\nRib-ib-ib\nUngh\nScreams\nHi, Im Peter Griffin\nHey Peter\n[Sammy O.}\nScreams\nScreams again\nBu-ta-ka-ta-bu-tu-bu-ka\nBu-ta-ka-ta\nlaughter\nBaby\nScreams\nHold me close\nDon’t let go\nYeah\nBaby, ooooohhh\nScreams\nYou didnt get it\nThe postage\nI didnt have the stamps\nI needed you\nTo deliver my letters\nAnd in this corner\nScreams\nRespect for the dead\nBwow-bwow-bwow\nBu-na-bu-na\nBwow-bwow-bwow\nBu-na-bu-na\nBwow-bwow-bwow\nBu-na-bu-na\nBwow-bwow-bwow\nBu-na-bu-na\nBwow-bwow-bwow\nI just farted", "The main attraction, distraction\nGot ya number than number than numb\nEmpty ya pockets, son, they got you thinkin that\nWhat ya need is what they selling\nMake you think that buying is rebelling\nFrom the theaters to malls on every shore\nThe thin line between entertainment and war\nThe frontline is everywhere, there be no shelter here\nSpielberg, the nightmare works so push it far\nAmistad was a whip, the truth was featherеd and tarred\nMemories еrased, burned and scarred\nTrade in ya history for a VCR\nCinema, simulated life, ill drama\nFourth Reich culture, Americana\nChained to the dream they got you searchin for\nThe thin line between entertainment and war\nThere be no shelter here \nThere be no shelter here \nThere be no shelter here \nThere be no shelter here \nHospitals not profit full\nThe market bulls got pockets full\nTo advertise some hip disguise\nView the world from American eyes\nThe poor adore, keep fiendin for more\nThe thin line between entertainment and war\nThey fix the need, develop the taste\nBuy their products or get laid to waste\nCoca-Cola is back in the veins of Saigon\nAnd Rambo too, hes got a dope pair of Nikes on\nAnd Godzilla, pure mothafuckin filler\nTo keep ya eyes off the real killer\nCinema, simulated life, ill drama\nFourth Reich culture, Americana\nChained to the dream they got you searchin for\nTha thin line between entertainment and war\nThere be no shelter here \nThere be no shelter here \nThere be no shelter here \nThere be no shelter here \nAmerican eyes, American eyes\nView the world from American eyes\nBury the past, rob us blind\nAnd leave nothing behind\nAmerican eyes, American eyes\nView the world from American eyes\nBury the past, rob us blind\nAnd leave nothing behind\nJust stare\nJust stare\nJust stare\nJust stare\nRelive the nightmare", "Feel the funk blast\nFeel the funk blast\nFeel the funk blast\nFeel the funk blast\nFeel the funk blast\nYo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo\nI be walkin God like a dog, my narrative, fearless\nWord war returns to burn like Baldwin home from Paris\nSteel from a furnace, I was born landless\nThis is the native son, born of Zapata’s guns\nThrough the shanties and the cities remains\nSame bodies buried hungry but with different last names\nThese vultures rob everything, leave nothing but chains\nPick a point on the globe, the pictures the same\nA bank and a church, a myth and a hearse\nA mall and a loan, a child dead at birth\nA widow pig parrot, rebel to tame\nA white-hooded judge, a syringe and a vein\nAnd the riot be the rhyme of the unheard\nWhat you say, what you say, what you say, what?\nWhat you say, what you say, what you say, what?\nI’m calm like a bomb\nIm calm like a bomb\nThis aint subliminal, feel the critical mass approach horizon\nThe pulse of the condemned, sound off Americas demise\nThe anti-myth rhythm rock shocker, yes, I spit fire\nHope lies in the smoldering rubble of empires\nBack through the shanties and the cities remains\nSame bodies buried hungry, but with different last names\nVultures robbin everyone, leave nothing but chains\nPick a point here at home, the pictures the same\nField full of slaves, some corn and some debt\nA ditch full of bodies, check for the rent\nTheres the tap, the phone, the silence of stone\nThe numb black screen that be feelin’ like home\nAnd the riot be the rhyme of the unheard\nWhat you say, what you say, what you say, what?\nWhat you say, what you say, what you say, what?\nWhat you say, what you say, what you say, what?\nI’m calm like a bomb\nIm calm like a bomb\nI’m calm like a bomb\nIm calm like a bomb\nIm calm like a bomb\nTheres a mass without roofs, a prison to fill\nA country’s soul that reads post no bills\nA strike and a line of cops outside of the mill\nA right to obey and a right to kill\nA mass without roofs, a prison to fill\nA countrys soul that reads post no bills\nA strike and a line of cops outside of the mill\nA right to obey and a right to kill", "Come with it now\nCome with it now\nThis microphone explodes, shattering the mold\nEither drop the hits like de la O or get the fuck off the commode\nWith the sure shot, sure to make the bodies drop\nDrop and dont copy, yo, dont call this a co-op\nTerror rains drenchin, quenchin the thirst\nOf the power dons, that five-sided Fistagon\nThat rotten sore on the face of Mother Earth gets bigger\nTriggers cold, empty your purse\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nRally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nRally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nWeapons, not food, not homes, not shoes\nNot need, just feed the war, cannibal animal\nI walk the corner to the rubble, that used to be a library\nLine up to the mind cemetery now\nWe dont know keeps the contracts alive and movin\nThey dont gotta burn the books, they just remove em\nArms warehouses fill as quick as the cells\nRally round the family, pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nRally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nThey rally round the family with a pocket full of shells\nUh, bulls on parade, woo\nTransform\nUh-huh\nUh\nCome with it now\nCome with it now\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nBulls on parade\nGracias", "Huh\nYeah, were comin back in with another bombtrack\nThink ya know its all of that, huh\nAyo, so check this out, yeah\nKnow your enemy\nCome on\nBorn with insight and a raised fist\nA witness to the slit wrist\nAs we move into 92\nStill in a room without a view\nYa got to know, ya got to know\nThat when I say go, go, go\nAmp up and amplify, defy\nIm a brother with a furious mind\nAction must be taken\nWe dont need the key, well break in\nSomething must be done\nAbout vengeance, a badge and a gun\nCause Ill rip the mic, rip the stage, rip the system\nI was born to rage against em\nFist in ya face in the place and Ill drop the style clearly\nKnow your enemy\nKnow your enemy\nYeah\nAyo, get with this, ugh\nWord is born\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nNow I got no patience\nSo sick of complacence\nWith the D, the E, the F, the I, the A, the N, the C, the E\nMind of a revolutionary, so clear the lane\nThe finger to the land of the chains\nWhat? The land of the free?\nWhoever told you that is your enemy\nNow something must be done\nAbout vengeance, a badge, and a gun\nCause Ill rip the mic, rip the stage, rip the system\nI was born to rage against em\nNow action must be taken\nWe dont need the key, well break in\nIve got no patience now\nSo sick of complacence now\nIve got no patience now\nSo sick of complacence now\nSick of, sick of, sick of, sick of you\nTime has come to pay\nKnow your enemy\nCome on\nYes, I know my enemies\nTheyre the teachers who taught me to fight me\nCompromise, conformity\nAssimilation, submission\nIgnorance, hypocrisy\nBrutality, the elite\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams\nAll of which are American dreams", "Rebel, rebel and yell\nCause our people still dwell in hell\nLocked in a cell, yes, the structures a cell\nMad is the story I tell\nHow long can we wait?\nCome on, seein whats at stake\nAction for reaction\nIf your minds in a somewhat complacent state, get a check up\nThis is a stick up\nOur freedom, or your life\nLord, I wish I could be peaceful\nBut there can be no sequel\nNow freedom must be fundamental\nIn Johannesburg, or South Central\nOn the mic cause someone should tell em\nTo kick in the township rebellion\nYeah, what about that, sucka?\nYeah, so you thought you could get with the hardlines\nThat fill your mind\nThoughts, battles fought, and lessons taught\nYes, Ill display the fitness, and flip like a gymnast\nRaise my fist and resist!\nAsleep though we stand in the midst of the war\nGotta get mine, gotta get more\nKeepin the mic warm against the norm\nCause what does it offer me?\nI think often its nothin but a coffin\nGotta get wreck til our necks never swing on a rope\nFrom here to the cape of no hope\nNow freedom must be fundamental\nIn Johannesburg, or South Central\nOn the mic cause someone should tell em\nTo kick in the township rebellion\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhats it gonna take?\nShackle their minds when theyre bent on the cross\nWhen ignorance reigns, life is lost\nShackle their minds when theyre left on the cross\nWhen ignorance reigns, life is lost\nShackled our minds when were bent on the cross\nWhen ignorance reigns, life is lost\nShackled our minds when were left on the cross\nWhen ignorance reigns, life is lost\nLost\nLost\nShackle your minds and youre left on the cross\nWhen ignorance reigns, life is lost\nJust shackle your minds when youre bent on the cross\nWhen ignorance reigns, life is lost\nLost\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm\nWhy stand on a silent platform?\nFight the war, fuck the norm", "Uh\nPump, pump, woo!\nCome on\nUh\nSolo, Im a soloist on a solo list\nAll live, never on a floppy disk\nInka, inka, bottle of ink\nPaintings of rebellion drawn up by the thoughts I think\nYeah\nCome on\nThe militant poet in once again, check it\nIts set up like a deck of cards\nTheyre sendin us to early graves for all the diamonds\nTheyll use a pair of clubs to beat the spades\nWith poetry, I paint the pictures that hit\nMore like the murals that fit\nDont turn away, get in front of it\nBrotha, did ya forget ya name?\nDid ya lose it on the wall playin Tic-Tac-Toe?\nYo, check the diagonal, three brothers gone, come on\nDoesnt that make it three in a row?\nCome on\nUh\nDrop that\nUh\nCome on\nYeah\nUh\nBrotha, did ya forget ya name?\nDid ya lose it on the wall playin Tic-Tac-Toe?\nYo, check the diagonal, three million gone, come on\nCause you know theyre counting backwards to zero\nEnvironment, the environment exceeding\nOn the level of our unconsciousness\nFor example, what does the billboard say?\nCome and play, come and play\nForget about the movement\nYeah\nUh\nAw, bring that shit in\nUh\nHey\nFreedom, yeah\nFreedom, yeah right\nFreedom, yeah\nFreedom, yeah\nFreedom, yeah, right\nFreedom, yeah\nFreedom, yeah, right", "Uhh\nAyy, yo, its just another bombtrack, uh\nAyy, yo, its just another bombtrack, yeah\nIt goes a one, two, three\nYeah, and its just another bombtrack\nAnd suckers be thinkin that they can fake this\nBut Ima drop it at a higher level\nCause Im inclined to stoop down, hand out some beatdowns\nCould run a train on punk fools that think they run the game\nBut I learned to burn that bridge and delete\nThose who compete at a level thats obsolete\nInstead, I warm my hands upon the flames of the flag\nTo recall the downfall and the businessеs that burnt us all\nSee through the news and the viеws that twist reality\nEnough, I call the bluff, fuck Manifest Destiny\nLandlords and power whores, on my people, they took turns\nDispute the suits, I ignite and then watch em burn\nWith the thoughts from a militant mind\nHardline, hardline after hardline\nLandlords and power whores, on my people, they took turns\nDispute the suits, I ignite and then watch em burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn \nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nIt goes a one, two, three, another funky, radical bombtrack\nStarted as a sketch in my notebook\nAnd now dope hooks make punks take another look\nMy thoughts ya hear and ya begin to fear\nThat ya card will get pulled if ya interfere\nWith the thoughts from a militant, militant mind\nHardline, hardline after hardline\nLandlords and power whores, on my people, they took turns\nDispute the suits, I ignite and then watch em burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn \nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nHey, yo, its just another bombtrack\nCheck it out\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn \nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn, burn, yes, youre gonna burn\nBurn", "Get up, come on, get down with the sickness\nGet up, come on, get down with the sickness\nGet up, come on, get down with the sickness\nOpen up your hate and let it flow into me\nGet up, come on, get down with the sickness\nYou mother, get up, come on, get down with the sickness\nYou f, get up, come on, get down with the sickness\nMadness is the gift that has been given to me\nDrowning deep in my sea of loathing\nBroken, your servant, I kneel \nIt seems whats left of my human side\nIs slowly changing in me \nLooking at my own reflection\nWhen suddenly it changes, violently it changes\nOh no, there is no turning back now\nYouve woken up the demon in me\nGet up, come on, get down with the sickness\nGet up, come on, get down with the sickness\nGet up, come on, get down with the sickness\nOpen up your hate and let it flow into me\nGet up, come on, get down with the sickness\nYou mother, get up, come on, get down with the sickness\nYou f, get up, come on, get down with the sickness\nMadness is the gift that has been given to me\nHey now, youre an all star\nGet your game on, go play\nHey now, youre a rock star\nGet the show on, get paid\nAnd all that glitters is gold\nOnly shooting stars break the mold\nOh, wah-ah-ah-ah!\nGet up, come on, get down with the sickness\nGet up, come on, get down with the sickness\nGet up, come on, get down with the sickness\nOpen up your hate and let it flow into me\nGet up, come on, get down with the sickness\nYou mother, get up, come on, get down with the sickness\nYou f, get up, come on, get down with the sickness\nMadness is the gift that has been given to me\nOh, wah-ah-ah-ah!\nOh, wah-ah-ah-ah!\nOh, wah-ah-ah-ah!", "Killing in the name of\nKill, killing in the name of\nYou will not be able to stay home, brother\nYou will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out\nYou will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip out for beer during commercials, because\nThe revolution will not be televised\nThe revolution will be live\nUh!\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nAnd now you do what they told ya\nCome on!\nTryna rain, tryna rain on the thunder\nTell the storm Im new\nIma walk, Ima march on the regular\nPainting white flags blue\nLord, forgive me, Ive been running\nRunning blind in truth\nIma rain, Ima rain on this bitter love\nTell the sweet Im new\nFreedom\nBreathe in\nFreedom\nBreathe in\nHold on to me\nDont let me go\nWho cares what they see?\nWho cares what they know?\nYour first name is Free\nLast name is Dom\nCause you still believe\nIn where we’re from\nFreedom! Freedom! I cant move\nFreedom, cut me loose! Yeah\nFreedom! Freedom! Where are you?\nCause I need freedom, too!\nI break chains all by myself\nWont let my freedom rot in hell\nHey! Ima keep running\nCause a winner dont quit on themselves\nUh!\nKilling in the name of\nKill, killing in the name of\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses\nSome of those that work forces\nAre the same that burn crosses!\nFreedom\nBreathe in\nFreedom\nBreathe in\nHold on to me\nDont let me go\nThe cheetahs need to eat\nRun, antelope\nYour first name is King\nLast name is Dom\nCause you still believe\nIn everyone\nFreedom! Freedom! I cant move\nFreedom, cut me loose! Yeah\nFreedom! Freedom! Where are you?\nCause I need freedom, too!\nI break chains all by myself\nWont let my freedom rot in hell\nHey! Ima keep running\nCause a winner dont quit on themselves\nCome on!\nYeah!\nHey! Ima keep running\nCause a winner dont quit on themselves\nUh!\nAtoms in the air\nOrganisms in the sea\nThe sun and yes, man\nAre made of the same things\nFreedom!\nCome on!\nFreedom!\nCome on!\nFreedom!\nCome on!\nFreedom\nFreedom\nFreedom"]}