| Truck North | |
| Yeah, | |
| Through the sirens, the lights is blindin'. | |
| Battlecry sound off, warriors dyin'. | |
| Last call at the bar with the snakes and tyrants. | |
| Hands up! That's a massacre, the cops kept firin'. | |
| Run amok, keep y'all eternally cryin', | |
| And fed up. Place red stains on global giants. | |
| The brain of Orson Welles, | |
| Stuck in a masterpiece, Citizen Kane's personal hell. | |
| It's dark, and it's hot where them hustlers dwell, | |
| And the air bears a stench of a corpse's smell. | |
| Homie down on his luck, one foot in a jail, | |
| And, he down to his last, with a quarter to sell. | |
| This right here, world premiere of the last days, | |
| The final paragraphs to the book's last page. | |
| You can feel it comin', no runnin' away. | |
| Let's get free, or let's get paid -- | |
| Same shit, different day. | |
| The cornerstone to where I lay | |
| Is shattered glass and crack bags where they play, | |
| And, scattered ass is passed in ridiculous ways. | |
| These cats chef like they Isaac Hayes. | |
| Parallel to the grave. | |
| Stuck in the game with no rules, | |
| And, we're screaming for some water and some edible food. | |
| Man, I'm right there, rabbit ears, nothin' to lose. | |
| This is what you ain't learnin' in school. | |
| I'm tryin' to tell ya, it's hard. | |
| A loaf a bread, milk, and eggs, stick of butter, man -- | |
| Somebody mother lies dead in the gutter. | |
| Sherrif down by them kids, talkin' that gutter, | |
| Tell them kids, "Don't look under those covers," man. | |
| Loaf a bread, milk, and eggs, stick of butter, man -- | |
| Somebody mother lies dead in the gutter. | |
| Sherrif down by them kids, talkin' that gutter, | |
| Tell them kids, "Don't look under those covers," man. | |
| Black Thought | |
| Check it out, | |
| A child is born, his mother is gone, | |
| He in the middle of it, literally, tusslin' strong | |
| For his life. The tide high in the eye of the storm. | |
| A mannish boy arrive, and the riot is on | |
| With no time to try to respond, or prepare. | |
| 'Times it's hard not becomin' a headline, | |
| Or prayin' in the night when it's bedtime, | |
| Or, layin' ya head down, | |
| 'Cause you already know what it is, now. | |
| You know a lot of leaders ain't honest, | |
| And, they can't keep a promise. | |
| And, I hate to speak about it, | |
| But, it's all freakanomics. | |
| Cramped and proud of it, you amped and you rowdy, | |
| Treadin' water, tryin' lift up your head without drownin'. | |
| This type of shit can make ya heart stop poundin', | |
| But, you pushin' for the top, too scared to stop. | |
| Now, it get's deep, bodies are floatin' around in the streets. | |
| Lotta people who won't even be around in a week. | |
| Man, get the operation gone. | |
| What y'all waitin' on? | |
| We been patient, y'all mu'fuckas takin' long; | |
| The television gettin' all the information wrong. | |
| Doin' how they do it, gettin' they miseducation on. | |
| They already late -- | |
| Somebody been was supposed to regulate | |
| Instead of wait, before they let the levee break. | |
| You try runnin from the truth, but, it's givin' chase. | |
| Got to ask myself, yo | |
| Is any nigga safe? | |
| A loaf a bread, milk, and eggs, stick of butter, man -- | |
| Somebody mother lies dead in the gutter. | |
| Sherrif down by them kids, talkin' that gutter, | |
| Tell them kids, "Don't look under those covers," man. | |
| Loaf a bread, milk, and eggs, stick of butter, man -- | |
| Somebody mother lies dead in the gutter. | |
| Sherrif down by them kids, talkin' that gutter, | |
| Tell them kids, "Don't look under those covers," man. | |
| A loaf a bread, milk, and eggs, stick of butter, man -- | |
| Somebody mother lies dead in the gutter. | |
| Sherrif down by them kids, talkin' that gutter, | |
| Tell them kids, "Don't look under those covers," man. |
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