Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Black Sunday, artist - Organized Konfusion. Date of issue: 15.08.1994
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Black Sunday |
| Lord, help me out now |
| We gotta get together |
| We gotta organize |
| No matter the weather |
| It’s a Black Sunday, hey |
| I used to watch my grandmother catch the Holy Ghost in church |
| For her soul she would search |
| Five years later now I’m off to work |
| In a department store, I’m foldin pants and shirts |
| At the end of the week, lord |
| Just enough loot to put some cheap sneakers on my feet |
| That’s when I made a promise to my momma I said |
| «I betcha you see me at the Apollo one day and I’ma. |
| Be kickin that fat funk shit; |
| Black, mackadocious -- speakers in the back trunk shit» |
| Cause the boss is bossing me, that’s costing me |
| To miss classes and I feel he’s forcing me |
| To be a jackass in the future; |
| then, who’s gonna shoot ya? |
| At this point in my life is where I chose to write rhymes |
| Instead of doing crimes |
| Nineteen eighty-six to nineteen eighty-nine |
| Organized Konfusion, did not, get, signed |
| But we will soon one day, until then |
| I return at twelve noon on the track, Black Sunday |
| Yeah, remember losing a loved one, lawwwd help us to make it over |
| Delete the pork, the cigarettes and forty-nine cent soda |
| We came a long way and I’m still runnin for my freedom |
| Still have one hundred miles to go, escape from the |
| Crack vials, so, you can feed that baby |
| I used to ride the elevator with the crazy lady |
| A year later I made demo cassettes with the Monch |
| My stick was on the fader, rhymes ran out quick so I |
| Encouraged Monch to start writing rhymes |
| And Mrs. J cooked dinner then we came into same hard times |
| Sour contract shouldn’t have been on the plate |
| Two apes escaped, back to L.A. with our demo tape |
| The state of mind I was in since Paul C died is that |
| I gotta get mines, representin 40 projects so I’m |
| All-in, gotta make papes and all that |
| Close my own record deal cause I can’t fall for that |
| Old snake shit, hissin' in the grass |
| For the cash, little cents, intuition listen |
| If you’re missin' my money, my fist you will be kissin' |
| Damn, I don’t even understand |
| Check it out |
| Like to say what’s up to my whole herd |
| Like to say rest in peace to my man *** |
| And rest in peace to my man Juice |
| Three strikes |