Public Enemy
Public Enemy - Generation Wrekkked songtekst
Je score:
If I can’t change the people around me I change the people around me 2x’s Don’t know was’up Shit iz jus fucked up They don’t know what’s next Generation Wrekked See I’m hangin in like Sam Sever To all you Johnny come latelys Who didn’t recognize how great Clever some of those rhymes be Think quick Been flowin over domes Mad vocab to silly crabs Before Metaphors be passin Your ass like taxi cabs Hit my toll free number To hear bombs I dropped 1 800 7654321 you don’t stop I need my noize like Patrick & Barkley need rings Like Griffey gets swings 1st time rhymes played me off like Sacramento Kings 3-6 for the 9-6 1 move my rhymers with the times wit no crimes or pantomime No great pretender spenders 20 years got mad peers leavin tears in they beers from the rear old school getting theirs you getting scared On&on 3 steps ahead Hot topics shock in the house Fulla heads Getting burned while you Learn on a hospital bed Madd kids never checkin for what I said Jack be quick Jack be nimble on the brain I’m stay’n simple But the sound remains insane Mad pain no gain getting getto on the table No stories no fables relax I’m cinemax to The black No cable Round & round here I go Putting this sound down But some a y’all got fears & scared to get Down If I can’t change the people around me I change the people around me 2x’s Some don’t know was’up Shit iz jus fucked up They don’t know what’s next Generation Wreckked The one who flew over the Cuckoo’s nest & tested And wasn’t ever bullet proof vested Resurrection of the one man vocal section Spirit in your dark ass direction For your mind body and soul protection Reality checks keep it real Bring in real checks On & off the road been through 1100 sondtracks Those influenced under the influence Getting mad hits from truants Dazed & confused hangin wit crews Who livin blues A million doomed consumers Who say they know they black Threw they medallions back In exchange for 40 dozen six packs Born under a terrible sign in 1969 comin Blind Livin inside hard ass times Getting kicks offa wack karate flicks He kills but gots no Fightin skillz It’s getting ill So many funerals Stylin now its gold plated medallions I didn’t know under fros We got so many black Italians