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Текст песни Black Market Militia - Dead Street Scrolls

Black Market Militia - Dead Street Scrolls слова песни

[Intro: Killah Priest]Black Market bitch, it`s crazy, the album`s hereRight there, Black Market, Black MarketWalk with us, yeah, the album`s here nowHappenin` now son, it`s happening now, yeah[Chorus: Killah Priest, Hell Razah]The dead street scrolls, we, the ones that cryThe dead street scrolls, we, the ones that rideThe dead street scrolls, we, the ones that cryThe dead street scrolls[Hell Razah]Hold my hands, let`s take a strollIt was written like the dead street scrolls, now the truth unfoldsThey thought I came here to empty the chrome, they envy my soulDiablo, off of the world, and tempt me with hoesMy holy blood drift from a rose, sweet JerusalemMy home sweet home, where the Christ was grownNow it`s BK where dice is thrown, here`s a lightCheck your 25 to life, over ice cream conesWhat you know about this microphone, royalties and the right to ownWhen you`re platinum and gold, too many followers and no leadersWe in the time, the young souls need us, to be our brother`s keeperIt`s Abel and Kain, way before labels and fameBrothers cryin` from the blood stains left in the rainTeardrops over open caskets, I`m just a genius in a straight jacketDon`t have me write it backwards[Killah Priest]I reinvented myself, restored what was beforeThe Heavy Mental instrumentals exploredVintage, Black Market prophets, we the heart of the projectsSee it in a sentence, this is some trap with mob debtsStreet fillers, from dealers to killersAnd I went buck, fifties across they faceThis goes out, to hood niggaz that lost they wayMom`s flippin` at the welfare office, thought she was burnedWe got plans to take the whole hood corporateDollar bills with my homey`s face printed on `emWe neighborhood wino`s, the new prophets since Donald GoinesPriest, the streets real, feel what I speakThis is more than just a hook or a Neptunes beatPharrell, no disrespect, but my eyes looked in the spec`sI ain`t a judge, no hidden agenda, yo, it should be `I am a thug`Is love, I laugh til tears fill up my lidsKick the rockets out the closet, and go out on my wigI spit the realest words, comin` from the hoodC-4, cock bells, Market is all goodGot the negro`s written in the dead street scrollsPictures of gangstas with guns, in hood street clothesWe arm wrestle with the devil, I broke and seen wholeWhen our others box with God, I let my heat goFor the people like Huey P., we the lost generationTil the preacher reads, our human plee[Chorus][Tragedy Khadafi]I write novels like Claude BrownManchild in a Promised Land, all the hood children gather roundSun Tzu gave me The Art of WarRobert Greene gave me The 48 Laws, The Art of Seduction is nothingOsato told a life story, Alex Haley showed me some RootsMy ancestors, those who came before meElijah taught me how to eat to live, not to live to eatFrom the pig intestine, deduction of feetKing David gave me the book of psalmsHuey Newton taught me how to a man, stand up and bear armsLearn the, the ways of the prophet, from Kalilda BrahmMohammed Alai Salam, from the Qu`ranIceberg Smith taught me how to move like a donWilliam Cooper showed me the pale horsesI studied with John Bay, secret sciences and forcesExist all around us, my soldiers never foldBlack Market require readin` the dead street scrolls[Chorus][Outro: Killah Priest]The desert eagles..

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