| This is Black Ops, I ain’t talking about Xbox
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| This is war with drugs and gangs and black cops
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| Watch your back or end up with your back shot
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| In Philly it feels like we playing a game of Black Ops
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| Gun shots burst and hit a fiend, your enemy’s curses
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| Many things are not guaranteed but death is certain
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| In the bushes in all black is an insurgent
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| Strapped with a bomb to his person waiting to hurt shit
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| The street level surface is filled with workers goin' shirtless
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| Trained in the weapons of torture
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| And the oppressed just live with it
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| It sounds like Iraq or maybe a Palestinian village but
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| If you change just a few details you see Hell
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| It’s in the same streets that we dwell
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| Where they hardly spar, they get their arms to call?
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| Mask on like Mardi Gras and leave you harshly scarred
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| It is God we call from when there’s no answer it’s arms we draw
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| Hit a house from the dogs of war, this the place where you meet death
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| You can’t stop the game, there’s no reset
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| Revolution in the hour of black steel, raps filled
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| With the plague attack from the black hills
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| Storming the Bastille with a bat to smack grills
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| Selling sex, death, guns, crack, pills, your last meal
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| All that’s up for grabs, cops with batons
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| Got their foot all up your ass
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| Hear the blast when that thing crash up the ave
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| It’s just a game, no winners, we all come in last
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| Helicopters in the hood to remind us Hell’s upon us
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| The light shines in the manhunt the hood Osamas
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| And their baby mamas hiding hoping they don’t find them
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| But the black Black Ops swarmed on em like piranhas
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| There’s no glory to be found, no honour
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| Kill or be killed or beg for mercy from your honour
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| It’s sad fam but the facts stand
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| It ain’t too difference for an American black man or a brother who’s Afghan |