Lyrics Universal Condition - Mazzi, S.O.U.L. Purpose, Murs

Universal Condition

In my opinion.
Young generation, white, black, brown, whatever else it is
Are living at a time of extremist, a time of revolution
A time when there’s got to be a change
The people in power have misused it and now there has to be a change
So walk with me and see all that’s shown
On a block in a box, people call that home
Rich man walks by, lives blocks away
Got to get his weekly dosage of the rock’s today
Travel miles overseas see same by the thousands
Rags and cut trousers, shacks and mud houses
That’s home
Kids puttin' in child labor
Back home
Kids havin' kids, child labor
Parallel hell can I tell?
Well listen
War veterans with a couple limbs missin'
Wheel chair bound yellin', «The end is nearer!»
Same fear pump through CNN and Al Jazeera
This American dream is a surrogate thing
In traps inseminated
Detached and separated
In fact we segregated
With gats we educated
With raps we serenaded
The path is big and faded
(MURS)
The world is a ghetto and the hood is everywhere
New York streets to mid east desert air
(Killa Cali and everywhere in-between
Make you think this nightmare is the American dream)
We got the red team and the blue team the you scheme
Load clips, slap up knifes and do things
It’s routine
Same state of mind but new scene
Automatics held between they drawers and blue jeans
Bloodin' and Crippin' is like the war on religion
You see my homies love they hood with the utmost conviction
Wrap a rag around they face and shoot the first thing snitchin'
Like they decorated soldiers on a gang bang mission
Savage with no plan
To battle for Holy Land
Tattoos on their necks, face, arms and both hands
5−0-4 to the 2−1-5
They live by the sword just to die with their pride
7−7-3 the home of gang homicide
Get shot with your cap cocked to the wrong side
Kill the youth kill the rumor keep some truth in the music
Otherwise we won’t live long enough to do shit
(MURS)
The world is a ghetto and the hood is everywhere
New York streets to mid east desert air
(Killa Cali and everywhere in-between
Make you think this nightmare is the American dream)