"Black Sunday" as written by Troy Donald Jamerson and Lawrence Robert Baskerville....
Lord, help me out now
We gotta get together
We gotta organize
No matter the weather
It's a Black Sunday, hey

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
At the end of the week, lord
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 bossing me, that's costing me
To miss classes and I feel he's forcing 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 noon on the track, Black Sunday

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

Yeah, remember losing a loved one, lord help us to make it over
Delete the pork, the 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 vials, so, you can feed that baby
I used to ride the elevator with the crazy lady
A year later I made demo cassettes with the Monch
My stick 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 C 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

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

Check it out
Like to say what's up to my whole herd
Like to say rest in peace to my man Dalou
And rest in peace to my man Juice
Three strikes


Lyrics submitted by Lateralus518

"Black Sunday" as written by Troy Jamerson Lawrence Baskerville

Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Walt Disney Music Company

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