We gotta get together
 We gotta Organize
 No matter the weather
 It's a Black Sunday  hey..

 [Pharoahe Monch]
 I used to watch my grandmother catch the Holy Ghost in church
 For her soul she would search
 Five years later now I'm off to work
 in a department store  I'm foldin pants and shirts ah
 At the end of the week ah  lawd
 Just enough loot to put some cheap sneakers on my feet
 That's when I made a promise to my momma I said
 "I betcha you see me at the Apollo one day and I'ma..
 be kickin that fat funk shit;
 black, mackadocious -- speakers in the back trunk shit"
 Cause the boss is boss and need is costing me
 to miss classes and I feel he spoke to me
 to be a jackass in the future; then, who's gonna shoot ya?
 At this point in my life is where I chose to write rhymes..
 .. instead of doing crimes
 Nineteen eighty-six to nineteen eighty-nine
 Organized Konfusion, did not, get, signed
 But we will soon one day, until then
 I return at twelve at noon on the track, Black Sunday

 Chorus:

 Lawd, help me out-ah
 We gotta get together
 We gotta Organize
 No matter the weather
 It's a Black Sunday

 [Prince Poetry]
 Yeah, remember losing a loved one, lawwwd help us to make it over
 Delete the pork cigarettes and forty-nine cent soda
 We came a long way and I'm still runnin for my freedom
 Still have one hundred miles to go, escape from the
 crack villllles, so, you can feed that baby
 I used to ride the elevator with the crazy lady
 I year later I made demo cassettes with the Monch
 and ?Tastik? was on the fader, rhymes ran out quick so I
 encouraged Monch to start writing rhymes
 And Mrs. J cooked dinner then we came into same hard times
 Sour contract shouldn't have been on the plate
 Two apes escaped, back to L.A. with our demo tape
 The state of mind I was in since Paul Sea died is that
 I gotta get mines, representin 40 projects so I'm
 all-in, gotta make papes and all that
 Close my own record deal cause I can't fall for that
 old snake shit, hissin in the grass
 for the cash, little cents, intuition listen
 If you're missin my money, my fist you will be kissin
 Dang... I don't even understand

 Chorus:

 Lord, help me out now
 We gotta get together
 We gotta Organize
 No matter the weather
 It's a Black Sunday

 Outro:

 Check it out
 Like to say whassup to my whole herd
 Like to say rest in peace to my man ?Dilu?
 And rest in peace to my man Juice
 Three strikes