The press is out, they think we're dressed in blue & brown,
they think we're cut straight from London Town, but we're not,
and it's 20-0-8.
But it's the same routine, it's been the same since 19-80 (AD)
The rich kids' in the hungry neighborhoods out looking for something to eat.
There's a handful of kids on my block, they cryin'
They all tell me New York City's dyin'
With the wave of her hand, she went and took it to another land,
She said, "I can't stand your command"
He said, "Ok, but remember this: I'll be your 30-second clip
advertised on the coffee ya sip, driving by on a fast food strip,
from Baghdad to Brooklyn and you paid for it."
And the man at the corner sells sex & violence.
He don't look you in the face,
but you could just sense it in his eyelids,
And the whole world's a stage,
but down in the crowd it's just a cage paying minimum wage,
and it takes a wrecking ball to break the chain.
There's a handful of kids on your block,
They stylin' and they'll have you convinced
that your whole wide world's an island,
and that it really don't matter much,
as long as you get that bang for your buck,
and you put off today, tomorrow you're fucked.
O' you got your prime, stepping in time in the supper line,
and what you learned in the street was the same as in class,
you gotta eat the weak to advance.
And that sooner or later it is historically proven,
the world's only equator will be left likely in ruin
So you should take what you can from the day and at the end of it
they'll have you lay
beside that restless feeling,
when you're down on the ground and your head's up through the ceiling.


Lyrics submitted by fistfuloflove

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