| Hey yo
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| Lights, camera, tragedy, comedy, romance
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| You better dance from your fighting stance
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| Or you’ll never have a fighting chance
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| In the rat race
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| Where the referee’s son started way in advance
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| But still you livin' the American Dream
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| Silk PJ’s, sheets and down pillows
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| Who the fuck would wanna wake up?
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| You got it good like hot sex after the break up
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| Your four car garage it’s just more space to take up
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| You even bought your mom a new whip scrap the jalopy
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| Thousand dollar habit, million dollar hobby
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| You a success story everybody wanna copy
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| But few work for it, most get jerked for it
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| If you think that you could ignore it, you’re ig-norant
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| A fat wallet still never made a man free
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| They say to eat good, yo, you gotta swallow your pride
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| But dead that game plan, I’m not satisfied
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| The poor get worked, the rich get richer
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| The world gets worse, do you get the picture?
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| The poor gets dead, the rich get depressed
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| The ugly get mad, the pretty get stressed
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| The ugly get violent, the pretty get gone
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| The old get stiff, the young get stepped on
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| Whoever told you that it was all good lied
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| So throw your fists up if you not satisfied
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| Are you satisfied?
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| I’m not satisfied
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| Hey yo, the air’s still stale
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| The anthrax got my Ole Earth wearin' a mask and gloves to get the mail
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| I know a older guy that lost twelve close peeps on 9−1-1
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| While you kickin' up punchlines and puns
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| Man fuck that shit, this is serious biz
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| By the time Bush is done, you won’t know what time it is
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| If it’s war time or jail time, time for promises
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| And time to figure out where the enemy is
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| The same devils that you used to love to hate
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| They got you so gassed and shook now, you scared to debate
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| The same ones that traded books for guns
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| Smuggled drugs for funds
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| And had fun lettin' off forty-one
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| But now it’s all about NYPD caps
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| And Pentagon bumper stickers
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| But yo, you still a nigga
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| It ain’t right them cops and them firemen died
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| The shit is real tragic, but it damn sure ain’t magic
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| It won’t make the brutality disappear
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| It won’t pull equality from behind your ear
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| It won’t make a difference in a two-party country
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| If the president cheats, to win another four years
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| Now don’t get me wrong, there’s no place I’d rather be
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| The grass ain’t greener on the other genocide
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| But tell Huey Freeman don’t forget to cut the lawn
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| And uproot the weeds
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| Cuz I’m not satisfied
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| All this genocide
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| Is not justified
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| Are you satisfied?
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| I’m not satisfied
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| Yo, poison pushers making paper off of pipe dreams
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| They turned hip-hop to a get-rich-quick scheme
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| The rich minorities control the gov’ment
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| But they would have you believe we on the same team
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| So where you stand, huh?
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| What do you stand for?
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| Sit your ass down if you don’t know the answer
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| Serious as cancer, this jam demands your undivided attention
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| Even on the dance floor
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| Grab the bull by the horns, the bucks by the antlers
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| Get yours, what’re you sweatin' the next man for?
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| Get down, feel good to this, let it ride
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| But until we all free, I’ll never be satisfied
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| — Repeat 2x
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| Are you satisfied?
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| (whoever told you that it was all good lied)
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| I’m not satisfied
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| (Throw your fists up if you not satisfied)
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| Are you satisfied?
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| (Whoever told you that it was all good lied)
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| I’m not satisfied
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| (So throw your fists up)
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| (So throw your fists up)
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| (Throw your fists up) |