Funeral Singer

from by 607

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lyrics

Knuckle marks in the dirt mean he hung him upside down low enough to scrape
(I just be thinkin)
I can knock em out quick wit a halothane mist, Put the pump on they face
(That'll work too)
No smoke in the lungs of the dead that's arson to cover up murder, see a lotta lil shit as a po lil kid
Either you a victim or an observer

As the flames rise and spread across the ceiling
At the same damn time, I'll be watchin from the building
I figured out that the game was rigged
Opressors won't ever change how they think
They weakened my neighbors by killing kids
Instead of protesting do what they did

Barbed wire rings on the water hose
To strangle, we call that a snake bite
Red and green cocktail drippin out his nose
The struggle chafed me on my cheekbones

Deprived, decrepit, derived from severing ties with so many coons
I be confused when I be up close
Talented actors trick me wit they wounds

Ima funeral singer
I do my job and do it well
I'm prolly the only person at the funeral who be enjoying myself
RIP poverty
RIP justification
RIP child killers
Your death is the birth of a nation

You kill an adult who killed a child that cancels out your crime
If you justify, your child should die so your heart feel like mine

When you poor, your youth is a trap
Cuz you can't do nun to help out
And don't nobody take you serious
Hate in your heart, blunt in yo mouth

I'm sick of this voyage (echo)
I wish i could uplooooad, my memories to a cloud and destroy it
They treat my like I'm so annoying

All of us ain't finna march
All of us ain't in the dark
All of us hear what you say
But some of us knowin it's not in your heart

Some of us all outta talk
Some of us ready for war
Some of us know it's our job to serve
But soldiers can't pop it off

What you think poor people think about?
You think we dream about food?
You think we believe the shit that they teach in the schools?
You think it's cool?

You think our numbers are dwindling?
You think your fortune is infinite?
You think the world don't know you was lyin and you the original immigrants?

Deprived, decrepit, derived from severing ties with so many coons
I be confused when I be up close
Talented actors trick me wit they wounds

Ima funeral singer
I do my job and do it well
I'm prolly the only person at the funeral who be enjoying myself
RIP poverty
RIP justification
RIP child killers
Your death is the birth of a nation

We don't need guns
We need to make grenades and bombs
They will never leave us alone
Freedom costs blood
Live life and do they own thang
Condemn us when we try to do the same
We gone have to force this change
Freedom costs blood

credits

from Traptized, released October 31, 2016

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607 Little Rock, Arkansas

Tupac + Fiona Apple = 607

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