The Art of Struggle

by Son of Nun & DJ Mentos

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rebel music


released August 6, 2008

Son of Nun & DJ Mentos




Son of Nun Baltimore, Maryland

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Track Name: Fire Next Time
The last time I touched ground I shut down towns and gave pounds to people in Lowndes – back when the south wasn’t dirty cause of its sound, and when you had a different reasoning to chamber the round. Justice only went to a judge’s chamber to drown, and a brother sitting down could stiffen a whole town. Back when black was a more powerful noun and rap was for getting free and off limit to clowns jah-bless-the-panthers from h. rap brown to fanny lou and everyone who held thangs down – I’ll take you back like the crack of the whip when freedom equaled whipping crackers with the back of the clip cause speaking truth to power more than fattened your lip and going underground was the best way you could hit – break the chains – burn the cotton – and dip, board the chariot w/ Harriet, find fear bury it and marry the trip – cause man -freedom’s looking pregnant as shit and all attending this shotgun wedding is trying to get hitched – (back) when the first snitch got his first stitch, before selling out your brother was a form of getting rich –

I came through fields of cane to claim you in a place where there wasn’t a north to race to, and just like the cotton – sugar cane blaze too, and just like the south - Jamaican slaves raid too. Maroon cliques thick in the hills who made do- black guerillas who made the british militias pay dues, Cudjoe sleyed mad crews of they best dudes, and Accompong brung the pain of chained truths, just some Africans doing what Africans do, acting amazing in situations too bad to be true – Mexico to Brazil they stayed ill, Yanga, Nanny, and Benko stay real/ Black mandingo from san domingo if you don’t get the lingo –huh- you’s the gringo, T.L.O. and O don’t stand for Owens – he didn’t play games but he surely got open, he left france and Britain and spain all broken with the meanest team of brothers they ever brought over oceans, revolutionary commotions promoting white power convulsions, leaving them heaving and seeking other notions

you can call Bechtel on your Nextel - tell them that their pipeline’s about to catch hell, if they think I’m gonna die for them they ain’t well, I’m the fire next time and I’m at their doorbell. AWOL as hell with no fears of jail cause they got money for war but my community fails, I only signed up so I could climb out of sales cause the way I made money courts take it bail. When I get back I’m putting bush on a scale and I’m a take a pound of flesh until justice prevails – till they start fixing up these broken down schools, till they get their hands off a woman’s right to choose, till they blame companies instead of immigrants for paying people less than it takes to pay the rent. Till America starts behaving herself and doing unto other countries what she’d do to herself – and I know I aint the only one who thinks like me even though they never try to show us on the tv – the movement has deep roots man believe me – cause the fire next time is coming to dc
Track Name: My City
I gotta get up where the guns never let up and niggas die slow when the game gets sped up, hope is just a broke nigga always getting wet up so brothers stay fed up and they smoke to keep they head’s up. Bill and ted only come around to cop cause they excellent adventures don’t involve getting shot. The box that cats rock catches static from cops they same second they try to set they foot on the block, they got us on lock, supplying the coke for the rock, tieing our dreams to the fiends while they prison gets stocked. – Stop – gepetto got the ghetto rockin stilettos lap dancing in an office face down in some jello, money green be the color, hip hop be the tempo about 80 beats per minute rocking you in your temple – image is everything so families hard at work be invisible, most brothers don’t slang but they’re regarded as criminal, some that do got a day job they’re committed to but deception be the drug every election’s addicted to. My high school never had many computers but they always had plenty military recruiters

When I say my, yall say city – bodymore, Baghdad, darfur, philly
When I say is too yall say gritty – broke glass, bomb blast, coke, cash, gimme

I spit fire like rebels in the dead of night writing on the skyline igniting the pipeline, the trifer the time the hyper the rhyme and the less incite it takes to decipher the line. I’m intelligent by design so I define my freedom as an act of defying all occupying forces extorting my resources and losses are large but I’m still attacking the hackmen and the people in charge – some people in the west ask me why it’s like that – and I say it’s cause I’ve got a right to fight back. – I used to be a big believer in diplomacy till I was staring down the barrel of your goals for me – fuck you and your entire empire, I’ll spit live wire rap till you expire – my land, my oil, my plans, not your puppet government or your scams. I’ve seen Afghanistan’s UNOCAL point man, u.s. protected contraband in his own land – no thanks sam - we got our own plans, we invented civilization and we’ll do it again troops out now, iraq for Iraqis – my people will never bow to America’s lackeys
Track Name: PasturesofPlenty
I arose from these dusty roads and hauled loads with souls that only god knows, only those chose could behold these woes that break backs and wear soles and not be froze-i-plot each row with the seeds for the crops we sew and break bread but turn ghost when we clock the po-even though we got papers they’re not for show so we come and go like the people that came before-years from spinning flax and- picking the indigo to scratching out a living on the edge of a land that’s stole –Minute men hem the border to stem the flow while our sweat and blood water all that they bought in the store
Cash for crops from tobacco to hops from the fields of Arizona to the northwest docks from the foot of the Rockies with it’s snow capped tops down to the grand canyon and it’s wind swept rocks we stock wheat to corn illegal and hated on – a people who’s labor on so many depend upon

On the-edge of your cities you see us and then we come with the dust and we’re gone with the wind

Up and gone at dawn to find work by the street corner auction block where crime lurks, the line jerks as gringos grind time into dimes, taking the fruit of our labor, leaving us with the rinds – we broke the ties that bind to climb through, the holes in the souls of leaders that blind you, with the threat of job theft while your debts deride you - our wives ride the bus through their lies to side 2 spit shining shrines of the swine who mine you they do – kitchens and kids for sickening bids, at the cribs of the richest of pigs, and while we’re counting our ribs, barely living off the scraps that they give, they tap the loot we wire back to our kids, and draft laws – to close streets paved with our souls in black oz, outlaws of conscience like those who draft dodge, we’re refugees of NAFTA’s economic sabotage. And we ain’t leaving, until your debt breeding, world bank and imf loans stop thieving. Your helping hands left latin American lands bleeding, now on the money trail our families are stampeding.

In the Heart of your cities you can see us and then we come with the dust but we’re strong as the wind
Track Name: Katrina Wasn't the First Time
I was six back in 27 my father was that reverend known for pulling fire out of heaven and we’d eat blessings with families hard up for collections which included us cause mom barely got paid for lessons but we’d keep pressing, a sharecropper’s life is stressing especially when you’ve got seven other sisters and brethren and the ones getting richer off my family’s sweating always seemed to use their pale complexion as a weapon but that didn’t set in for me until that river threatened to wash us all away like Noah back to the beginning. [oh] they all knew it was gone-come, cause delta was to blues what crackers was to-guns [oh] planters knew we was gone run so they rounded up everyone black under the sun - coppers spotted sharecroppers on stroll and they made’em work the levee hard for no dough – all the leaders just knew it was gone hold, at least that’s what they said as they was driving down the – road - 8am the 21st the levee burst like Niagara falls blasting through 3 quarter miles of earth and)) for a time people was equal on they knees sending prayers up to god from their rooftops and trees

Katrina wasn’t the first time – and bush made sure it came close to the worst time x2

I remember Greenville cause that scene still wakes me up from dreams like a fiend from his night chills – blacks backed against the knife of white will on a levee tight rope sloped right toward swill – they brought boats to save 13 thousand survivors hanging on in our makeshift housing, but when they left all they had on board was 33 whites and the spite of the lord. Oh God people came bruised haggard and scared, living in racism’s-schism is hard – don’t get me started on the national guard, marauding through the camps to rape, murder, and rob – red cross came lame w/ that old game of giving whites the best thangs while leaving the rest hanged – w/ hunger pang chains wound around black frames set the ground for turning black names in to black flames – they had a rule that would’ve made Hitler drool – blacks without a work pass don’t get food – abuses hit the press but hoover made a slick move – and found a uncle tom crew to keep the stories out the news – bigot for president the evident rule, and people wonder why we be the home of the blues

80 years ago leaders tried to stem the flow of a swollen river by throwing niggers into the hole – shovels for black souls, crackers trapping black gold, under the sun, under the gun, under that jim crow –

….and their eyes were all watching god (echo) oh lord don’t spare rod! x2

From 1927 to 2000 and 5 racism’s shaped the face of the system like Jekyll and Hyde it tried to reside in prisons and school systems denied but Katrina kicked the door open wide – no Iraqi ever left me on my roof to die! Was the cry for blocks of people stranded in attics and rooftops and cops cocked they glocks to take shots and save shops instead of rescuing people in grave spots – the slave dock that was the super dome was a shock and like it or not – kanye hit the nail on the top – george bush should be arrested and locked, left to rot like the homes and bodies that he forgot – but this ain’t gon stop until the bottom take control of the top – they say to put your faith in the system but look what it got – not ever again cause the strength of the wind has blown the cover off the thieves in their den – these-men, guilty of treas-on, deceive the poor to fight a dirty war conceived in – star spangled propaganda banners that hid the plans of the scammers trynta get hands on the lands with the oil – but now tables are turning and they’re gonna start learning cause they’ll catch a burning from when the melting pot starts to boil
Track Name: Child Abuse
Black boy, with a lethal black toy, forced to kill joy for the rebel convoy, he never shed 10 tears in his 10 years, till they made him put a bullet in his 10 peers-10 cheers for the young black killer-who couldn’t imagine a scene iller, next village, next pillage, pretty black girl, (getting)ripped from her pretty black world – Night (echo) but sleep never comes, there’s no way to satisfy the lust of these bums – Fight (echo) the girl tries hard, but the gun butt leaves her forehead scarred. Where’s God? Where’s the campaign, where’s the official who said it won’t happen again? All that’s left is corruption and debt manifest in destruction and death, enough stress to make diamonds out of coal briquettes and old vets out of young cadets with more regrets than they could ever forget – legacy of the old wild west (getting) expressed in the distress of countries that it molests, yes, they should be writing checks to those they oppressed instead of using debt as a weapon to strengthen conquest

Black killa black drug dealer black thug w/ the black gloves cap peeler, when niggas play chicken in the street who’s realer, the ones shipping the guns or the ones pulling the trigger, cause brother’s steppin thugged out getting rubbed out like the serial number on the thunder that comes out - don’t mess around and let your shirt get wet cause you and shells a hit the ground like a fucking duet, step – that’s the threat from the mouth of the vet when he sense the remmy spitting instead of getting respect, alpha male shit putting niggas in check, this brother could’ve been a Malcolm but he’s Detroit red, born to hustle written under the dreads, came home at 13 to find his mother was dead, little sis hiding under the bed, lil’bro crying need to be fed, heroin took their heroine and that shit got to his head, child soldier on the hunt for the bread, while politicians make decisions to build prisons instead - we need jobs to our communities that’s dieing of lead from the paint, bullets, and pipes that be killing us dead.

Born into brothels, bad attitudes precede the hostile flare of the nostril, when the young ones come with the guns they perform miracles on those who play dumb. Bill Cosby types like go gripe but Pudding Pops don’t stop Glocks in food fights. A hungry child is a timebomb and his anger is a gift he can thrive on (right on). Child laborer sweatshop slave in a free trade zone, carple tunnel syndrome. Young lives rotten, lungs filled with cotton, no stopping the profits they’ve gotten. Third world locked in a shocking dance with death by shopping, (who’s watching) when the price is this good the cost gets forgotten. “They took my fucking hands so you could have that bling.” Funny, kids say the damndest things. Kanye came closer than most but he got shook by King Leopold’s ghost. Consumer culture is a vulture but capitalism be putting kids on the altar. Sacrificial knife raised and ready, sponsored by Debeers, Walmart, and debt see, you can’t stop the profits from giving god’s word in the form of stock tips. Got clips? Matter of fact I’ve got two, one’s for the gun, the second one’s my organized crew.
Track Name: Southpaw (live)
I knew this activist who said she was a pacifist, but in the bed she treated me like I’m a masochist
Hypercritical but loved it when her ass was kissed, and hated sweatshops cause they disrupted her fashion list
Afraid of immigrants she helped them in her own way, she said she only purchased coffee that was fair trade
Just a typical hypocritical digital snapshot, of a pseudo political crackpot
She liked to talk a lot and smoke pot a lot, and ended up moving home with the folks a lot.
I knew some anarchists resisting in the black block who never seemed to set foot in any black blocks.
I knew some blacks who used to spit a lot of facts but never showed up when it was time to fight back.
Some real rappers spit truth every night but say stupid shit when it comes to gay rights.
They talk about the panthers but they never knew that Huey would’ve called they ass out for what they do.
If I’m lying then I’m dying then, nope the left is still segregated in the lion’s den.
A lot of liberals act radical till you bring up Palestine then you can find them on sabbatical
I only say it cause it’s necessary, how the fuck you think we’re gonna make change voting for john kerry
We got the 8 hour day because of strikes not because you wrote your congressman and got the right.
They could give a goddamn if you’re polite, but hit them in the pockets and they’ll meet with you tonight.
You can watch it on the news if you dare, cops locking up workers on strike for healthcare.
Why so many on the left stand with the government, when you start talking about capital punishment?
I see disparity with clarity and know that solidarity is not synonymous with charity.
(we can do a lot better than this)(e)
Track Name: Right On
Fist up, get’em high, right on, when you hear the track you’re like that’s my song – everybody in the place putting work in, ain’t nobody leaving till the dancefloor’s hurting, dj mentos got your frame jerking, son of nun’s on the mic and he’s versed in, how to rock right with the left all night and still slap republicans in broad daylight –damn right that’s how it goes when I’m in it, everybody knows I hit shows and rip it, spit rage for days and leave the stage splitted, free your inner slave and misbehave with it – revolutionary rap club track, freedom fighters raise your fist and lean back, excuse me miss activist can you do with your hips what your lips do with politics? No soul, no movement, no strikes, no fights for your rights no improvement, I got slapped and trapped with the track, yeah I’m into that when the beat is this phat, rhythm be to me what rage be to bill bixby, if he was black and still living in the 60’s – the incredible top of the federal hit list all up in the streets bearing witness, I grab mics with the quickness, spit with the sickness, and whip thick beats into fitness, office thug shit all up in your business, swimming in fit rhythms with the slickness.

Fist up get’em high right on, when you hear the track you’re like that’s my song – everybody in the place putting work in, ain’t nobody leaving till the dance floor’s hurting
Fist up get’em high get’em high if you aint selling out then reach for the sky
Word is Bond that’s my song, let that jam rock all night long.

Revolutionary soul burned to cd, that you can blast when you roll pass the pd, car stereo i.e.d. loaded with a son of nun rpg. Rough intellect getting wreck in the set spitting tough dialect that you’ve come to expect and I bet that you’re gonna leave w/ your shirt wet, calling into work hurt by the son’s set, 1 vet 2 vet 3 vet 4 back from iraq and they’re all against war sir no sir we won’t take it any more now they’re mixing with the people getting nice on the floor. – young America out of character tearing down the clear channel dumb it down barrier – looking for a fix they never find in the mix, why the dj always play the same 6, love, sex, drugs, thugs, nothing bout how the nsa getting phones bugged, they can’t handle it when I dismantle it, 2 turntables and a mic set to damage it, getting people in the streets like ‘damn’ revolutionaries brought they whole fam, all they hubris left’em clueless now throw your fist up and show’em what the truth is, no justice, no sleep, the farmer’s gonna weep when it comes time to reap. Getting big money playboy your time’s up, where them activists, where them unions.

Fist up get’em high right on, when you hear the track you’re like that’s my song – everybody in the place putting work in, ain’t nobody leaving till the dance floor’s hurting
Fist up get’em high get’em high if you aint selling out then reach for the sky
Word is Bond that’s my song, let that jam rock all night long
Track Name: Reality Check
Now let’s see I’m the biggest and the badest, I’m dumb rich and my women be the phattest, I cooked coke to make cake, did a bid upstate, and got a tool to make jake vacate. You know the story, rags to riches and glory, stitched a few snitches who tried to ruin it for me. A lot of niggas rap but so many do it poorly, the super nigga’s back here to enhance the story. I aced archetype 101, majored in crack and minored in the way of the gun and since the 96 act of telecommunications consolidated ownership over radio stations - I’m guaranteed to get played on the air, now wave your hands like you just don’t care – they like me cause I’m not spike lee, I’m nigga nigga nigga in a fresh white tee. You’d never find me at a protest; they make their money off the ghetto being hopeless. I’m a role model cause people up top would rather have kids pick me than Malcolm X to follow. Sell that crack, kill that nigga, don’t fight back just be a good nigga – sounds easy but it takes hard work to roll dr. king’s body when it’s under the dirt – if he was young now, he’d be trying to get paid, dirty south dr. bling ice grill and the shades, his first album might be called I have a dream but every last track would be about making some cream

One part ghetto – one part system – two parts ignorance, just add rhythm, now you’ve got the formula for success on how to make money off the violence of the oppressed. I’d rather put the tool to the president’s chest than get a XXL for hiding under his dress, most niggas in the industry need to confess, they never knew that black face faked it’s death.
Reality check (repeat)

Who’s that? It’s son of nun black, splitting suckas from they caps to they ass crack – digging in them hacks giving them a flashback, no jerrycurl pat you can’t have your cash back – but tell Reagan that I’m pissing his grave a little trickle down revenge from the son of a slave – chained to the wage but trained in the ways of working class revolution till the end of my days – how you put the ghetto on display without talking bout the good ol’ boys who made it this way – you holding 5 mics but got nothing to say, if you aint trying to roll then stay the fuck out my way. Socialist – vocalist got the government choking this – hoping this never gets played and people start-quoting this cause they might just start throwing fists and bricks at pigs and Molotov’s at the governor’s uppity digs for executing black people like the cracker he is, I’m kidnapping his kids to go to inner city schools where they’ll live and die by inner city rules. got a contribution for the heads of state, it’s about 4 pounds and it seals your fate, I got a hate for evil doers maybe you can relate, I’ll be the one burning the u.s. flag at your wake – class war going on outside no man is safe from, I know my enemies because I stay awake son – I stand strong with my comrades, brown, red, white, asian, and a-rab - I bitch slap capi-ta-lists, like where’s my motherfucking reparations you dick, like slaves to a master when they holding the whip, or like hookers to a pimp when they holding the clip

Now for the record execs writting the checks stacking the decks with music that be wack as my ex, get back in the lex cuz I'm a start snapping your necks and you can tell them FM dj's i'm attacking them next! DJ's these days are cliche, predictable catch phrase with cyclical track plays, they're pitiful wax slaves on business plantations. The only phrase that pays is "obey the corporation." They don't even pick the music at the station, so Klan propaganda stays in heavy rotation but I'm putting politics back in the mix and taking hip hop back to the bricks I'll put a cap in the myth and if I'm caught then I'm jacking the fifth. Either that or self defense cuz I have to resist. My music is a weapon, insurrection strapped to a disc, organized to bring about demise of capitalist. Don't get it twisted baby, I'll take it back to Haiti, Black Jacobin attacking men that's trying to slay me. I'm a dark skinned marxist marksman sparking rebellion everywhere that I'm marching. I've got politics, roll with a lot of cliques and when the time comes we gon' load a lot of clips. Now throw your hands up and show me your fist cuz you know they got our names on a government list.
Track Name: Litebrite
I drop jewels that school fools and rock crews leaving ice scattered like lite-brite on black moons
I don’t coon but I’ll tap to the tune of taps, on the tomb of any bigot that’s holdin us back
I’m smaller than the average baller in rap, but I’ll fuck your ear drum till it pucker and snap
I’m prone to the clap and known to come hard over tracks, so every time I finish I diminish the wax
I get dap from thugs, rebels, panthers and cats, and every other predator to pigs and to rats
I was hooked on the smack with a jones that’s all weather, and I used to smoke crack but emcees are better
I’m fucking with ya, shrooms was the elixir, I ain’t above eating a cap to twist the picture
Get it right son, or get quite done, damn right I love hip hop but I ain’t dumb

Mi half jamrock half barbado, all volcano, good friends with kano
All black maroon tat pon mi back wit a rebel mind state Babylon no run dat
I slip back to the slick black vernacular, either way the flow stay spectacular
Young bachelor, wack with the spatula, known to suck the life out of mics like Dracula
Got this rapping thing down it’s a cinch, I spit bars and hooks that cook willie lynch
Thought he was souped up, then he got looped up, when the rhyme traveled his spine unraveled
Uncle ben beat him down in the gravel, aunt jemima fucked him up with the gavel
It’s a sin what I did to his skin but then we did the same thing to his next of kin.

Why Christians always gotta wear the cross, Christ don’t want a flash back of how they bumped him off.
Number 1 victim of the death penalty, but you still kill and call that shit a remedy
I’m not religious because I’m not vicious, but my sex life is borderline superstitious
When it rains it pours, but when it gets dry I give myself a hand to get by
If you can’t feel the flow you’re not supposed to, I don’t spit for numb skulls like most do
Used to have a six pack way back but I cut it down to one so the flow could stay fat
I’m still sexy fresher than the rest be, even when I get depressed death be trying to sex me
clowns will probably say I watered it down, but they can drown too when I slaughter the sound
Track Name: The Reason
The Reason

If hip hop’s dead I’m the words of the pastor, this ain’t the end it’s just the next chapter. She’ll be back in four days, one for each element raised from the grave, strapped w/ a thousand apostles, all hostile, spitting that gospel. Let me get a scratch for that, shake your paint cans if you graff w/ that. Where the b-boys and b-girls at? Emcees resurrect the mic we bringing hip hop back. Heard the news try to call it homicide but you and I know hip hop was gentrified. In the underground is where she reside, and every motherfucker there’s been keeping it live. I be that militant, son of an immigrant, so if they try to lock me up you know I’m innocent.

They’ll never kill the reason
We’re still breathing

I’m what makes every rapper an activist, either for change or a hooker for capitalists. I’m the seed that feeds on your love and your greed that either grows to bear fruit or spread weeds. Some rappers sold crack to escape it, the rest of them are dumb enough to think that it’s sacred. I’m the day that we finally shake it, no more getting shot for a spot on the slave ship. I’m what it means when we say that we made it, cause I’m the hour we take power and shape it. No beef in the streets, no war, no debt dc to Darfur. Get down, get live, work it out like you trying to get by. If you fight for what’s right and you know the cost, then you’re a rebel go on and brush your holsters off.

They’ll never kill the reason
We’re still breathing

I snatch a bigot’s heart just like a mayan and feed a Christian fundamentalist to a lion. I free the rebels that these devils be tryin then I level racism Mississippi to zion. I be the knife that’s releasing your life, when you fall asleep after beating your wife. I’m the glock cocked and ready to pop 50 shots at each cop that made sean bell drop. I’m that brother in sierra leone getting phantom limb pain when rap city comes on. I’m the corner that pays the coroner where hunger pangs set trip on innocence like a foreigner. I’m the source and the force of the riot, you can find me underground when the surface is quiet. I’m the heart of the movement that’s still breathing, you might kill the rebel but you’ll never kill the reason.

They’ll never kill the reason
We’re still breathing
Track Name: New Ab (feat. Rev 1)
Son of Nun verse:

They strap me to the table while they ready the venom – blue collars with some extra dollars from the cowards who sent’em-but the sourness in’em drowning in their alcoholism’s the real payment for these agents of death – enter the med tech checking the technicals of these killer chemicals - even though he’s not a doc he plays one for the spectacle – highly unethical and prone to mistake – premeditated murder at the hands of the state – The plan and the date given with no chance of escape to victims of a system world renowned for (it’s) bias and hate – they poison the fates of men taking life with a pen christian politicians killing Christ again and again guilty and - innocent men black trapped and condemned for killing victims with a skin color lighter than them jim crow holds the keys to the pen and like gepetto over ghettos pulls strings to make thieves out of men – but sankofa held a key tucked in his cheek to the end so when he spoke he broke the chains and he put’em on them – convicting the system of lynching and its racist tradition of using blacks as stepping stones for these punk politicians
Track Name: Speak On It
They knew she was coming and knew she could summon a rain of destruction to make the levies crumble to nothing, but still they was shuffling, and hoping that her huffing an puffing, couldn’t knock the stuffing out the super dome’s construction, they bluffed and passed the buck when the people were suffering, condi bought some shoes and bush went to republican functions, the final nail in the coffin’s gentrified reconstruction, from companies looking to profit from katrina’s destruction
How many cats start a gang and get incarcerated, then turn around and get nobel nominated.
It ain’t complicated tookie rehabilitated bangers from his cell through the changes that he demonstrated. State hated and ghetto appreciated, gang affiliated, mentally emancipated, should have been exonerated but it’s all con related, cops be the gang that keeps the ghetto concentrated Leaders get elected keeping blacks congregated, in a prison system that’s vicious&overpopulated

Immigrant Rights
I was – born illegitimate in this criminal syndicate that’s, hostile to immigrants and murders it’s indigenous if, you ain’t got they logo on your birth certificate, your worth is insignificant especially if you’re pigmented but– they need you for their businesses so their position is, work’em and jerk’em but don’t give them any benefits, ship’em over to iraq to kill the militants and, if they make it back alive maybe we’ll call them citizens, we know that’s b.s. from Chicago to TX amnistia por todos immigrantes east los to bx
You might’ve seen them in the street about a million deep, but it wasn’t farrakhan that they was hearing speak, they barricaded and ain’t accepting defeat, till the governor’s running for cover on his bare feet. Students and teachers, indigenous people, leaders striking and fighting for freedom to topple people that cheat’em – if you ain’t been checking the papers brother you need to read’em knowledge helps to build the solidarity they need to beat’em

Military Recruiters
Ask a veteran about his medicine and if this war was worth the purple heart he got for his prosthetic limb. Ask Swift if she would be a vet again after getting raped and threatened by her ranking men. Something’s stanking when, recruiters start to bend, and use the very lies that maimed and took life from their friends. These wounds will never mend until this war’s brought to an end, the troops are home and true iraqi’s rule iraq again
This is the 5th time they’ve had to resist Zionists collabing w/ roman imperialists – Hezbollah’s the only arab force down to enlist guerrilla tactics on the side of Palestine in all this. It’s, not even ‘bout the torah or the quran, religion was politics before democracy dawned hypocrisy spawned long before the jews or islam - invasion and occupation have always been wrong - leaders try to deceive us with a flag and a psalm, that’s why their road to liberation’s filled w/ martyrs and bombs. Not the ones that’s getting tucked under arms but the ones the u.s. gives the idf to do harm
Track Name: Seasons
2 peers in two years inked on her cheek as two tears that run when the dates near, (but) she can barely taste the salt when she chase beer, she wear’s thorns around her heart cause it aches there
she takes care to shake stares w/ glares that weight bear a hate bends and breaks theirs
she dates snakes and apes that don’t dare discuss the viscous stuff the cuts bare
there there’s never made her feel better but something bout the razor helped her pull her self together
she was young but her soul was like leather cracked from the strain of pain like bad weather
dying from exposure without closure, black market medicine embalmed her composure
all she needed was skilled hands to hold her but she could only afford the cold shoulder

he worked nights, smoked lights, and rolled like, the ghost of city life in a dingy pair of old nikes
had lungs like stove pipes and spoke like, somebody switched his voice box w/ a broke mic
the smoke choked the life out of his wife who never lit a cigarette a day in her life
how could he let her intercept the pain and the strife, he tried to curse god for the blood on his knife
no dice the love from his kids turned ice, if looks could chill they’d have to thaw him out twice
his golden years turned green from the tears, a Marlboro man all alone with his peers
he tried to move but he couldn’t shift gears, parked next to guilt w/ a clutch made of fears
he’s still here and still hears the jeers, and still puts out his cigarettes in empty cans of beer

he had something to prove and nothing to lose, a buck 40 w/ a size 8 on his shoes
only thing he outgrew was the length of his fuse and his ego never healed quite right from the bruise
too cocky to not be stocky, more like the kid in home alone than rocky
everybody had their beef w/ broccoli, he had heart but his sleeves were sloppy
every look got took for a question he’d answer with a page from his book on aggression
just a victim of his own self-deception, lost in his complex of misperceptions
confounded thoughts got compounded till he found himself bound and surrounded
paranoid to let go and get grounded he crowned insecurity and built walls around it.
Track Name: Change is Constant
Hold tight, I’ll roll right, trying to make the clique thick day and night, gotta get my mind straight so that I can migrate to that level where I’ll let my love and life gyrate and let go of that old cold way of thinking that clouds my soul I know I so can mold lessons into weapons hold time as a nine and blow my mind (echo) use hope as a rope and yolk my spine (echo) and climb on, strive on, rise on, get live on, stay l-to the –i-v-e on mics for just-to the i-c-e and rights, I’m right here, with no fear, the meaning of my life has never been so clear, I’ve shed tears in the ears of my peers who brought me back to life with theirs, words can’t express what I’ve got in my chest so I’ll just do my best with the breaths I have left and KEEP BREATHING (echo) inhale life exhale strife, embrace revolution, truth and light, reject institutions with roots in abusing humans and looting, I’m moving on heartbreak is gone my soul found a love that’s true and strong in m-e, y-e-s, you can hate if you want but don’t second guess this e-m-c-e-e knows he can b-e (echo) true to the flame while changing the name of the game so that thangs wont ever be the same

cause change is constant

inked on my chest in the depths of my flesh for regrets and respect in the steps I have yet to take on the trek, so mistakes can be met, wide awake and then set, straight when I life check, turn my soul up and - - one time, if you’re feeling this track soul - - one time, redefine, redesign, your current state of mind visualize organize keep your eyes on the prize and the lies that deprive and divide our equals just in case life has no sequel people get lethal when they’re not sheeple we can build solidarity and get diesel (echo: just in case life has no sequel) steady on the grind, plenty on the mind, heavy on the kind, ready for the time, when we gone shine, stay f-r-e-s-h on m-i-c’s m-d to the n-y-c d-j-m-e-n-t-o-s got tracks that make hands - - and chest - breathless, stress less, leaving souls thinking that they deathless, giving hearts rest if they restless, giving minds peace if they reckless, move to the rhythm driven by strength given to the living who expose truths hidden by the system and devour cowards in the final hour with the power that scours landscapes that the greedy man makes saying power to the people (echo)

cause change is constant