| Funky box and deadly beats
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| We got too many gangs around the streets
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| We got sunshine and deadly heat
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| We got free-roamin' kids singin' trick or treat
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| We got bad boys and poisoned rats
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| We got too many rappers with baseball bats
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| We got old records and hot cassettes
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| We got a charity service for the living dead
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| We got a fine line and a deadly plot
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| We got half-dead bodies in a parking lot
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| We got strange eyes and hungry hearts
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| And a cloud full of flies and a coal black art
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| Got sold out long ago
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| But the crowd keeps pushin' to the overload
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| We got skyscrapers in the slums
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| We got the filthy rich and the beggin' ones
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| The sun goes down, the streets are black
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| And I can’t hide this thought I have
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| Something strange is goin' round
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| Yeah I can feel it coming
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| Radios on repeat
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| Got a bollywood blues and a bhangra beat
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| We got local trains overflowing
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| Got a government dog busy whistle blowing
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| Got pipedreams and broken thoughts
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| Caus' she likes it cool and he likes it hot
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| Got traffic jams and holy cows
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| Got lovers on the street chasin' the sundown
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| We got rattle snakes and monkey biz
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| We got dark black boroughs in a cold abyss
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| We got poets killin' crazy rhymes
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| On chairs on streets tryin' to make a dime
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| Got hand-me-down boys and whores
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| This grace is a bit of a dinosaur
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| We got heavy rain and a dusty wind
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| It’s been a while but I’m still not used to the spin
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| The sun goes down, the streets are black
|
| And I can’t hide this thought I have
|
| Something strange is goin' round
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| Yeah I can feel it coming |