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.