| I said my cranium is vibranium, my brain is uranium and titanium
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| Forty-fives, who aimin' 'em? |
| Organize the stadium
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| Tell 'em, «Take cover, I warned you not to play wit' 'em»
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| Them borderline war crimes, you got away wit' 'em
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| Who came to save the day and brought the K wit' 'em?
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| Tariq the people’s champ from the equal team
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| Tryna keep it clean 'long as all my people solid deen
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| I’ve been in the music scene long as Allen Leeds
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| Make they salaries, still accumulatin' calories
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| Demonstratin' how to breathe, Senegalese, Genovese
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| I been a reason to freeze, reek G’s in the league
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| On my own, gettin' cheese
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| I will hurt Hercules, I will merc most MCs
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| I’m the last one to show up, the first one to leave the crime scene
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| The obscene, Salam theme, the ridiculous rhyme scheme
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| The stick to the grind gene, the hell with the hygiene
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| It’s a dirty bomb, word to seven thirty time
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| Disaster level nine eleven meets the eleven nine
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| Catastrophe beyond incredible, I redefine the seventh sign
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| Faster, scarier, mass hysteria from Damascus, Syria
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| To middle America, school cafeterias and cul-de-sacs
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| I told you that the boss is back, know what I’m sayin'?
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| In these streets that I call home
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| Unless you’re blind, you’ll see it all
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| In these streets it’s cold at night
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| Sirens screamin' by, gunshots all the time
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| Yo, omertà code meets the Hippocratic oath
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| Observin' his whole circus from a diplomatic post
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| My word and his whole purpose, a cinematic scope
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| The Earth and its whole surface, I consider that his toast
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| Same as Sammy Davis, Bellafonte, Quincy Jones
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| Mahatma Gandhi, James Balwdin, Jesse Owens
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| Runnin' from a cop car, me and Akbar
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| I changed from a rock boy to a rock star
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| Hijack the elevator to the top floor
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| I’m takin' everything that’s left like a southpaw
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| Crash and burn and learn through osmosis
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| And watch the word spread like Tuberculosis
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| I took a snapshot but it hurt to post it
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| I had a Black Thought and they called it wokeness
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| Overdoses, water bugs and roaches
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| Forty Cals and holsters, all halal and kosher
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| Twenty thousand jokers, one ain’t playin'
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| I’m Claude Brown, Man-child in the Promised Land
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| In these streets that I call home
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| Unless you’re blind, you’ll see it all
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| In these streets it’s cold at night
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| Sirens screamin' by, gunshots all the time |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Streets , by - Black Thought. Song from the album Streams of Thought Vol. 2, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп