Streets

(альбом: Streams Of Thought, Vol. 2 - 2018)

[Black Thought:]
Yeah, that shit hard

I said my cranium is vibranium
My brain is uranium and titanium
Forty fives, who aiming 'em?
Organize the stadium, tell 'em, "Take cover"
I warned you not to play wit' 'em
Them borderline war crimes, you got away wit' 'em
Who came to save the day and brought the K wit' 'em?
Tariq the people's champ from the equal team
Tryna keep it clean 'long as all my people solid deen
I've been in the music scene long as Allen Leeds make they salaries
Still accumulating calories
Demonstrating how to breathe, Senegalese, Genovese
I been a reason to freeze
Reek G's in the league, on my own, getting cheese
I will hurt Hercules, I will merc most MCs
I'm the last one to show up, the first one to leave the crime scene
The obscene, Salam theme, the ridiculous rhyme scheme
The stick to the grind gene, the hell with the hygiene
It's a dirty bomb, word to seven thirty time
Disaster level nine eleven meets the eleven nine
Catastrophe beyond incredible, I redefine
The seventh sign, faster, scarier, mass hysteria from Damascus, Syria to middle America school cafeterias and cul-de-sacs
I told you that the boss is back, know what I'm sayin'?

[Tish Hyman:]
In these streets that I call home
Unless you're blind, you'll see it all
In these streets it's cold at night
Sirens screaming by, gunshots all the time

[Black Thought:]
Yo, omertà code meets the Hippocratic oath
Observing his whole circus from a diplomatic post
My word and his whole purpose, a cinematic scope
The Earth and its whole surface, I consider that his toast
Same as me, Sammy Davis, Bellafonte, Quincy Jones
Mahatma Gandhi, James Balwdin, Jesse Owens
Running from a cop car, me and Akbar
I changed from a rock boy to a rock star
Hijack the elevator to the top floor
I'm taking everything that's left like a southpaw
Crash and burn and learn through osmosis
And watch the word spread like Tuberculosis
I took a snapshot but it hurt to post it
I had a Black Thought and they called it wokeness
Overdoses, water bugs and roaches
Forty cals and holsters, all halal and kosher
Twenty thousand jokers, one ain't playing
I'm all brown, Manchild in the Promised Land

[Tish Hyman:]
In these streets that I call home
Unless you're blind, you'll see it all
In these streets it's cold at night
Sirens screaming by, gunshots all the time