| Looking on various street corners
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| I’m sure you’ve seen it yourself
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| Standing on the corner, is an alleged brother
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| Dressed in blue or green, red and black
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| And, spouting the news, that the revolution is coming
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| And you better get ready, sort of like
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| The end of the world is coming, unfortunately
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| The world is just gonna get dragged on and on
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| And, we have a poem that we’ve written particularly
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| For the brothers on the street corners
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| Yo, standing on porches in front of houses and corner stores
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| I’m born to more, horrific than syphilis, cuz where we live is
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| Hell on earth, where was heaven when shit’s real
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| We sold dope to get mill, for white folks in Smith field
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| Fuck Israel, it’s Kill Hills, spilt pills for my bill
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| Write wills for my seeds, to live from, who take some
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| Who give some, for brothers that was lynched hung, the symptoms
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| Never go away, a stir away from colder ways
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| Having ramblings and savages, blessed, from us asking
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| This whole cross, is more rust in Florida oranges and lost orphans
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| I offer thought for food in full courses
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| I’ve soared into the night glow, my hat’s low, my roots grow
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| For you to soon know, I reap what you sow
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| We just land down from Liberia, young black man
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| In control of the pillars, millions buried in dirt
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| How many railroads do you own? |
| How much clean chrome you own
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| This for my ancestors names engraved in stone
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| On the roads where the rebels once roamed
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| We built homes, civilized our own
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| King Solomon Childs, beautiful as black, this time
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| We will walk on water, this time
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| We will see through the lies, this time
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| Prepare troops to move in, expand the runways
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| Build bigger bridges, nine millimeters from brady
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| We living in war, so prepare for submission
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| Apache helicopters, a black man’s face on a dollar
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| The pigs constantly watch us, the streets is obnoxious
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| Baby of the first nine, homey, in toxic
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| The first seed of a dope fiend, she A.D.D
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| Needle parked off spring boughed, by she, wanna be
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| While her siblings is rich living, she ain’t bitching
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| Mama’s working two jobs, try’nna maintain a living
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| Few years passed, now she’s getting raised by the streets
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| Side by side, watchin' hustles, now she blazed like the streets
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| This is for my women living in the struggle
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| Getting brought into this world without asking for the troubles
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| Of the every day life-life, a battered wife
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| A single mother’s holding it down, while the world so trife
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| Crack fiend, you could of been something better in life
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| Now hold your head up, ma, you know it ain’t over, right?
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| Yeah, this is for my Russians on the grind
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| Off the boat struggling try’nna hold a nine to five
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| Yeah, I seen enough with these eyes
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| I thank the most high, I’m still alive |