The bastard son I spit non fiction In exile for a while now with raw friction Never be a pawn the boomerang be upon you I'm like Fela with my heart in Venezuela It's a world favela so fuck the novela I'm out of the cellar with a blade and some cheddar For the whole new world order you to bow down To the now sound of slavery the era be Terrible terror filled terrified Why would we ever let a few white christian fiction's Shape our tomorrow followers them Cause tomorrow got a gun to it's head
Time is coming Rising like the dawn of a red sun If you fear dying then you're already dead
I'm in with the spirit of Ali Touré As I target more heads than a priest on ash wednesday Paid and hungry you pigs on gold ropes Have the mic or the heater but you can't hold both You could snatch one and catch the blast of the other I'm Chicano soprano high off my pitch ammo I'm a put a crack in your diamond pimp cup So vest up I'm your cross turned right side up I'm the press leak that downed you aide I'm the orange jump suit that's taylor made I'm the crescent, the sickle, so sharp the blade I'm the flick of the shank that opened your veins I'm the dusk, I'm the frightening calm I'm a hole in the pipeline I'm a road side bomb
Time is coming Rising like the dawn of a red sun If you fear dying then you're already deadTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
