I gotta black book/ with yo' name written in it/ I gotta black sharpie/ mark threw when I'm finished/ I keep it in my coat/ right next to my pistol/ we clear, mother fucker?/ 'cause we better be crystal/ yeah, I know, son/ ignorance is so blissful/ but you ignore me/ you will get a packed fistful/ and, fuck your control/ bitch, we don't need it/ you hungry, cock sucker?/ here's a dick, go eat it.
(I don't smoke crack, mother fucker I sell it!) I got your grave dug six feet in the cellar.
And I'll be underground/ until I'm underground/ I'll be spittin' sixteens/ 'til I'm six feet down/ No, this ain't a response/ its the beginning and end/ while I was fucking Barbie/ you was playing with Ken/ I was leading a movement/ you we're following trends/ I'm as real as real comes/ and you're just playing pretend/ So, if we're talkin' execution/ then I'll quote Basquiat/ 'Most young kings/ get their heads cut off.'
(I don't smoke crack, mother fucker I sell it!) I gotta bedroom fulla broads, you gotta table fulla fellas.
So, lemme just add/ No Homo-Pho-bia/ I'm just rappin', man/ to keep my status up/ I gotta fire in my throat/ enough to light my blunts/ I write all my own songs/ and do all my own stunts/ I got my town on my back/ 'Cause I never do front/ And, muah fucka, don't make me/ go pop the trunk/ you can call me a wolf/ but know I'm never yella/ now lemme get down to/ what I came here to tell ya'.
(I don't smoke crack, mother fucker I sell it!) yep, I heard ya' verse, now lemme hit ya' with some real shit.
The name is spelled/ B. S-I-L-A-S/ If I were you/ I would memorize this/ If I were you/ I'd just up and quit/ retire young, and run/ go make the most of it/ 'cause we're blood thirsty here/ and we all want the crown/ this is hip-hop, What?/ did you think we'd just bow?/ I don't think you ever met/ nobody like me/ you got the game on lock?/ I came to set it free.
This is a rescue beacon
our freedoms in trouble
and anybody hearing this
please get down here on the double
this is for never backing down
clenched fist with four bloody knuckles
this is a black flag raised
rumble, young man, rumble
This is a rescue beacon
our freedoms in trouble
and nobody wins until we
end all struggle
this is a call to arms
for all my sisters and brothers
its either raise your voice now
or bite your tongues and suffer
let me start by saying this
I love my home
and I guess some would say
that's why I kept my mouth shut so long
but I think the opposites true
I think silence is weakness
so this is me on my soap box
rapping hard with a vengeance
this is the introduction of
a true small town story
and when I wrote that first one
I hoped I'd never have to write another
let alone one of pure fact
ripped from my home town headlines
a tale of wicked men, corruption,
greed, and crimes from the inside
some of those that burn crosses
still hold political office
and meth has been subsidized
by the police department
and they'll kill to keep their secrets
rest in peace Tina Roberts
so you stay quiet or you die
that's why nobody's talking
but fuck that shit
cause I ain't the one
just to stand back or be hushed
and let this kinda shit go on
so if they kill me tonight
and these are the last words I record
let me assure there's a place
where you'll all get yours
This is your left cheek laying flat on the mat.
This is your eyebrow busted, joints all rusted,
your own blood...drip...drip...drips...off the end of your nose,
the audience yells in mumbled murmurs,
the other man stands to the side,
looking like a giant, looking like goliath.
when you were running, punching, jumping rope
had no idea this was what the fight was like
and the referee counts "1...2...3."
This is waking up to your own thoughts, so wrought
and corroded over with self deceit, and under siege
by the low lull of the static whisper of Lucifer
trying and succeeding in convincing you the voice is no ones but your own.
walking the streets at night,
praying for the morning light,
but whats the point? No changes come.
Its all the same when the sun does rise.
And the referee counts "4...5...6."
This is standing on the stage, heart filled with rage,
staring at the crowd, ready to throw down,
but your words get tangled and won't come out,
and the boos from the bloodsuckers grow so loud.
Your calm starts to slip,
so you walk out and split,
and think, "Fuck it, I'm done
with this Hip-hop shit."
And the referee counts "7...8...9"
This is prayer cut with blasphemy
caused by the pain
but atleast we're holding onto hope
atleast we're keeping the faith.
This is the last second chance
when your vision goes clear.
Stand up, raise your gloves,
nod at him like "I'm still here."
This is for rolling a blunt
and not giving a fuck
I'm only my own and yours,
God, take me where you want.
Blowing smoke in sacrament,
as I'm raising my light.
I won't let satan blow it out
gonna let that fucker shine.
This is climbing on that stage
and delivering fire.
This is letting the bloodsuckers know
exactly where the boundaries lie.
For never backing down,
for always coming up.
For always being yourself,
and never raising a front.
This is for everybody, anybody
told that they'd never have shit.
This is a raised fist, bitch,
and we're taking it.
Some will surely call this
the beginning of the end,
but their time was coming
a long time before this.
This is the rise of an empire
without a king,
so if you've ever fought for
a world without suffering,
if your with this shit
then let me hear you sing.
This is just me,
my heart, and my dreams.