| Looking on various street corners
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| I’m sure you’ve seen it yourself
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| Standing on the corner, is an alleged brother
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| Dressed in blue, or green, red and black
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| And starting the news, that the revolution is coming
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| And you better get ready, sort of like (I feel you, son)
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| The end of the world is coming, unfortunately (I got you, though)
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| The world is just gonna drag on and on (I know how it is)
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| And we have a poem that we’ve written particularly (I said, I know how it is)
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| For the brothers on the street corners
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| When the revolution come, you can see me on the front line
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| Firing my gun, standing right beside my son
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| If I go, it’s understood that I stood for something
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| When my whole life, they told me, I was good for nothing
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| I was raised by the stray dogs, blazed off, layed off
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| Breaking laws, graveyard shifting every day war
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| Focus now, notice how, things change, soldier
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| I remain the same, I’m older now, I embrace the pain
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| I blame the struggle, nearly drove me insane
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| Thought I lost my head, till my brethren told me the same
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| No tears for the reaper, I’ve buried bout a thousand
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| In graffiti, «rest in peace» sprayed off throughout the housing
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| I tried to stay civilized, the hood’s a prison inside
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| The only difference is the doors don’t slide
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| Still we trapped in the animal cage, cause we got animal ways
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| So we react, with the animal rage
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| And my section’s real, weapons peel, cheddar’s the deal
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| Seen the depths of hell, now I stare, death in the grill
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| From the slave ships, to today’s bricks, same shit
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| I’m awake, to the wickedness, and one, with the pavement
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| The all great mind stays divine, my hands remain deadly
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| We shine without the hung jewelry, produce light
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| That’ll travel through mics, now as the time riping
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| We took words that we nourishing, encouraging
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| A nation to awaken, those who were sleeping
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| Can you conceive the thought? |
| Transatlantic import
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| Slave and bought, secret relations between blacks and Jews
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| Might set a fuse off in the head
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| Many dead lynch hung, swung from trees
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| Brothers in the struggle together, eat from one pot
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| Hold each other down to the sneaker
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| Nothing come between us
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| Fast money and chicks, did it to the best of cliques
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| It’s sickening… huh
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| It’s me and you son, forever in the struggle
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| No doubt, we hustle, survival is the motto
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| Will you soon follow, a better tomorrow
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| …For a better tomorrow
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| It’s me and you son, forever in the struggle
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| No doubt, we hustle, survival is the motto
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| Will you soon follow, a better tomorrow
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| …For a better tomorrow
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| I catch a few flashbacks about, going through the struggle
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| How we used to make dollars, from all the snow we shoveled
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| In a broke neighborhood, where the kids often dream
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| About a lavish life, that is mostly seen in the screen
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| Where some dreams are quickly cut short, due to gang violence
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| From loud guns, that kept witnesses, in deep silence
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| Was it bad timing? |
| Jealousy from too much shining?
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| Or a set up, from a girl that he wined, kept dining
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| It’s a known fact, they will attack, cause it’s like that
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| And depending on the, kind of impact, that strike back
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| In a town where the talk is cheap and, beef is brief
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| A mother sobs uncontrollably, and exhibit the grief
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| Large holes in the front door, of a housing tenement
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| Allows room to retaliate, so conflict is imminent
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| This hate in the brain, destroys the cells like cancer
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| Even experts are stuck with more questions than answers |