Tell me mother Why did you cry? Why did you keep the rage inside? Was the answer underneath? The misery and pain that we feel for a child, for a man
Wonder from the Neural Bombing Agency We control the watch tower now, Power of assembly in crowds, hypnosis The only closest pattern to our process
the streets is just a head game So, therefore to make more A fifteen year old black kid will go and rob a liquor store And get shot in the process He
lock // He apparently kept more wax than Madame Tussaud // We were in total awe cause it blew our minds // So many rhymes that were intricately designed // He WAS poet
you niggaz speechless Distinctive, mad different's how I kick it Some niggaz recognize I'm individualized when I spit it Chorus [noreaga] What what what what what! Thugged out nigga Poet performin some other
you niggaz speechless Distinctive, mad different's how I kick it Some niggaz recognize I'm individualized when I spit it [Chorus] [Noreaga] What what what what what! Thugged out nigga Poet performin some other
Things Affect But Sometimes The Process Of Thought Can Make Me Dream Up What I Think Are The Equations To The Logical Steps To Purification Of Myself The Other
the streets is just a head game So therefore, to make more A fifteen year old black kid will go and rob a liquor store And get shot in the process He
[Sampled Intro: same outro from Poet Laureate] Uhh I dont understand how a writer could ever get writer's block, so called My problem is having too much
in the streets is just a head game So therefore, to make more A fifteen year old black kid will go and rob a liquor store And get shot in the process
