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