| My fore fathers was bought and sold, raped and sodomized
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| Now after eight hundred years you decide to apologize
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| Apology not accepted, too late for repentin'
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| Time to ride, homicide to William Clinton
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| That ass rippin', penetrated with baseball bats
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| Shoot him up with heroin and get him hooked on crack
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| Black folks been sufferin' in the United States
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| These United Snakes got us in divided States
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| Shell-shocked, Hell’s got to be here on Earth
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| In the ghetto circumstances can’t get no worse
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| Certain chances we takin' to survive, we got no choices
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| So we rappin' hopin' we can make it happen with our voices
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| I was too small for football, too short for hoops
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| So I rode with the Crips and cliques thick with troops
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| X-Raided them tricks hated but I don’t give a fuck
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| Uneducated bitches don’t realize they stuck
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| You’re oblivious to the fact that your life is hideous
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| We’re holdin' our own and we don’t need you to pity us
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| Plus, we got our own kind holdin' us down
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| Those who sold their souls, but it’ll be cold
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| When we catch you, I bet you’ll receive the death sentence |
| Turnin' racist generals into pulp non-fiction
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| Circumcision the «G» way
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| Murder the D. A
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| Hit 'em with hollow slugs, show him no lee-way
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| It’s too late for apologies fuck your sorrow
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| Doin' it one day at a time yellin' «Fuck tomorrow!»
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| In the streets it’s crack, guns, and infected bitches
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| Genocide on the down-low, the White Man’s wishes
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| My father figures was Arnold «Schwarzanigga» and Sly Styllone
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| Puttin' visions of murder in a nigga’s dome, early on
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| I grew up, watchin' Al Pacino and Nino Brown
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| Tarentino is the one who let me know how to put it down
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| Television created a gang of niggas like me
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| We learned how to kill at home watchin' T. V
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| It poisoned my mind as a youth
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| Introduced me to money, mayhem, and murder, I’m the product it produced
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| Let me loose to prowl, now they sayin' I’m a killer
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| Cuz European ideology’s all about the scrilla
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| Ain’t y’all feelin' the devastation you’re causin' the Earth?
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| Steady exploitin' the milk of this bitch for all that it’s worth
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| When it’s ready to blow up, they gone leave this World and go on to Mars |
| Leave us torn and everybody up will be reachin' for stars
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| Why my people so caught up in money, cars, and bitches?
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| Don’t you realize, you’re fulfillin' the White Man’s wishes?
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| Lord forgive for all the blood that his body bled
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| And all the tears that his Mommy shed
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| The book says «Thou Shalt Not Kill», but I’ve seen more blood spill
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| Than all them vets on Hamburger Hill
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| It’s real post war syndrome
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| I went to see my homie but his Mama told the homie been gone
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| And every time I turn around, it’s a body on the ground
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| Fresh gun shot wounds, but he didn’t hear a sound
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| When he came out the womb, nobody told him he would be dead so soon
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| The gauge went BOOM
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| It’s America, I know you got a cure for AIDS
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| We need a cure for rage, on the rampage
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| Can you feel it? |
| The tension’s in the air thick
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| And hate got me so high I’m gettin' airsick
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| You got my people broke, lookin' for a buck to borrow
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| Doin' it one day at a time, FUCK TOMORROW!
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| Fuck your song!
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| I want revenge! |
| I got a beretta named Vendetta
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| Time to answer for your sins nigga |
| And when you meet your creator tell him I said, «I apologize»
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| But I gotta ride…
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| — repeat til' fade |