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Lyrics
sickening songs of stored sorrows,
a secretion of hopes once made for tomorrow,
play over an everlasting beat.
It ceases to skip,
and forgets to fade,
apparently made for the Man's accolades.
he slayed.
Slaved.
paving the way for his children's present day,
two year old already enrolled in advanced classes,
chances to surpass any degree ever demanded,
of him.
never rising,
we shall over come; "rule number one,
don't underestimate the other guy's greed."
Hapkido technique #2, disarm the other man's gun.
hip hop extortion like rock and roll means,
surburban kids praise em' for starting a culture that's always been.
now we're rollin in Bentley's and have a little bling,
fuck the culture, being righteous is a sin,
kins sinking between the media and the headlines it pins.
death in life, like love in lust,
loving lust you can't even trust,
blinded by beauty underneath a ruthless crust,
even a toothless haggard knows the difference,
between gettin love and being fucked.
a hobson's choice, pick one, greed or greed
greed for the truth or greed for the need.
no seeds of my seeds will believe in hip hop,
by the time they're alive,
rap, graff, breakin, and dj'ing will have been dropped.
we're the modern day soft pop or soft rock,
if pac was alive, after listening to all the songs he's been claimed on,
he'd need some extra-strength Zoloft.
but the culture hasn't gone so wrong,
making money is good, and that's what kept our hopes strong,
charities to youths, scholarships, benefits, and so on.
if it wasn't for the worst,
the best would be long gone.
copyright 2004 kristina lopez
