Lyrics:

sample -- 'Blacks are too fuckin broke to be republicans', Ice Cube

(cut and scratched by DJ Pam the Funkstress)



Verse One: Boots



In this land I can't stand or sit

and not get shit thrown up in my face

A brotha never gets his props

I'm doin bellyflops at the department of waste

And everyday I pulls a front so nobody pulls my card

I got a mirror in my pocket and I practice lookin hard

I'm lookin behind me beside me ahead of me

There'll be no feet makin tracks here instead of me

But I can't disregard just what the news says to me

I'm twenty-one, so I've reached my life expectancy

At any minute I could be in some shit that kills my skinny ass

From motherfuckers doin the sellout strut or probably Oakland task

My relationship with OPD has been like one big diss

Long arm of the law, grips my dick so tight it's hard to even piss

So I forgot ain't even got a pot to do it in

Up at the church they're tellin me it's because I live in sin

So I grin, but nevertheless my mind won't dwell

I must be trippin cause I thought I was livin in hell

Capitalism is like a spider, the web is getting tighter

I'm struggling like a fighter, just to bust loose

It's like a noose asyphyxiation sets in

Just when I think I'm free it seems to me the spider steps in

This web is made of money made of greed made of me

Of what I have become in a parasite economy



Verse Two: E Roc



In the winter there's a splinter with the smell of the rain

And the scent of the street, but all I smell is the pain

Of a brotha who's a hustler and he's stuck to the grind

Of a sista who's a hooker gotta sell her behind

Desperation makes her brotha get a little more bold

The circumstance gets deeper when it's damp and it's cold

So I spend my time thinking bout the ultimate gank

Can I get my Coup together pull a move on the bank?

I be the picture perfect hustler for the piece of the pie

But my daddy always taught me just to reach for the sky

Now my dream and aspirations go from single to hoe

As I realize there's a million motherfuckers in the cold

No need to be told, cause when you got a million po' people

Gettin ganked, by a few that are rich and evil

But it's illegal, to wonder how they livin fat

(One two three) everybody get a gat



Verse Three: Boots



Ahhhhhh yeah!

Niggaz, thugs, dope dealers and pimps

Basketball players, rap stars, and simps

That's what little black boys... are made of

Sluts, hoes, and press the naps around your beck

Broads pop that coochie, bitches stay in check

That's what little black girls... are made of

But if we're made of that who made us

and what can we do to change us

The oppressor tries to tame us

here's a FOOT for his anus!

Well since the days when I was shittin in diapers

It was evident the President didn't like us

Assassination attempts I'd root for the snipers

My teacher told me that I didn't know what right was

Well she was wrong cause I knew what a right was

And a left and an uppercut, too

I had a hunch a sucker punch is what my people got

That's why I was constantly red, black, and blue



Outro: E Roc, Boots



[E] Boots, Boots, Boots, you wanna throw some shots out?

[B] Ay man I ain't done with my lyrics yet, that's not cool

[E] Ay, but ain't this a freestyle?

[B] Naw, this is not yet freestyle cause we not yet free

[E] Hey we gonna throw some shots out anyway

*guns are cocked*

[B] Awright fuckit, who y'all wanna throw some shots out to?

[E] Uhh whassup with that uhh Bill Clinton and Al Gore?

[B] Aight, they the new masters up in the White House and everything

Let's throw some shots out

[E] Yeah

*blam, blam blam*

[B] Awright, what about Bush? He on the way out and everything

but I think we need a goodbye for his ass

*gun cocked*

[E] Uh-huh

*blam*

[E] See-ya!

[B] Awright, what about Ross Perot and the good ol boys?

*guns cocked*

[E] The who?

[B] You know who they are, awright

*blam blam, blam*

[B] Ay what about Pete Wilson? (Whassup) That Pete Wilson motherfucker

[E] Yeah whassup wit him?

[B] Awright

*blam*

[E] Got him!

[B] Awright, ay, the L.A.P.D., *guns cocking repeatedly throughout*

The O.P.D., The Richmond P.D., Detroit P.D., ay

[E] Ay fuck it, fuck it, the whole, the whole motherfuckin P.D.

[B] Awright, load up

[E] Yeah, here's a loaded club for yo' ass

*semi-automatic*

[B] Awright, cool -- ay, what about these skinheads?

Ay check it out

[E] I can't stand dem fools

[B] Awright awright, load it up, load it up, awright, cool

*semi-automatic*

[E] Yeah, got em!

[B] Ay, what about these sellout motherfuckers!

[E] Who? *gun cocks*

[B] You know these sellout motherfuckers -- Ellay DuHarris

[E] Who else? *gun cocks*

[B] Tom Bradley

[E] Who else? *gun cocks*

[B] David Dinkins, ay, line em up

[E] Yeah be true to the game

*blam blam blam blam*

[B] Ay, we outta ammo, what we gon do?

[E] Let's get the fuck up outta here

[B] Aight cool, we out