Control of ones life goes to the victor...
Cut free from the moments in life where we could only sing our freedom,
Reduced to the cords ability to vibrate at a quicken and strained pace.
If only we all learned to keep it.
We all know this,
The smiles on faces hold no place among the leaders of our race
And should they happen upon us.
Short lived is certainly their status.
Some ass always finds a way to embarrass the majority
With the grace only out measured by their sheer ignorance.
Who's going to save our naqisha's and laquisha's
When all we see is her hip size and thick thighs.
Perpetuated by our singers and rap stars?
Blinding us by stirring up falsehoods of endearment.
These meant to cover up our augments.
Hardly meant, but just as deadly as round sent to chase down streets aimlessly.
While we claim we want it all, just not you.
You care for me as long as my cares can be ignored,
My desires unaffordable.
So our hope goes un-restored.
Accomplishments go unheard
Lost to the seas of wrongs we've done and continue.
Two against the world three against the current.
Control goes to the victor!
Which of course is not here among us to stand and be accounted for.
So we put our lives in the hands of those that stole and bargained away status holding ancestors.
While drug abusers crying over tracks the revolution shall be televised but
Who believes Bobbies lies anyways?
This is amazing hands out while big belly white politicians are
Replaced with model quality liars of the same up bringing
Prostitutes our lime light elders and peers.
That isn't as amazing as the state of emergency in our urban streets where
Convicts are our heroes,
Drug dealers our teachers,
And fiends their aids.
Road to obliteration.
Conceder this ain't even the aftermath.
Just the soft sigh of breath in-between the continued onslaught
Of our most valuable possessions.
Our souls...
Not even in the biblical yet in the stereotypical since.
Since cents goes to the victor...
Our lives into the sewers of tranquility.
Happy to just be, so control goes to the victor.
The load goes straight to shoulders the Burdon ours to bare. And our arms are out,
Alarms give no sign of stopping the cries innocence
or other wise. SO..
Our off spring seem destined for low tolerance matched only by their degrading mentality.
Stating all they'll ever see beings and ends with streets numbered from 1st to lost avenue.
Big thinkers not here, not unless your talking video hoes and
Late night unplugged video hoes.
So control goes to the victor.
Souls go to the lesser and all were left with is our confessions
That fall on deaf ears.
Fear success and no man,
Work hard at keeping the system in working order.
Working order aka for without reason
Kill or be killed.
Ask not what your country thinks of you,
But think the world of your country.
Order is dictated by the victor, guess that's what keeps me out of it.
Mad at the labels yet govern by their restraints.
Mad with reason, still gone in the wind.
Chaotic the world's secret agenda.
So control goes to the victor...
Control goes to the victory...
Control goes out the window with each victorious
Up springing head strong gun tooting
Secretive back stabber
Willing to kill family members to get close enough to the nine gates.
So I write in sevens waiting for the hour.
The hour control is returned to the people.
Cut free from the moments in life where we could only sing our freedom,
Reduced to the cords ability to vibrate at a quicken and strained pace.
If only we all learned to keep it.
We all know this,
The smiles on faces hold no place among the leaders of our race
And should they happen upon us.
Short lived is certainly their status.
Some ass always finds a way to embarrass the majority
With the grace only out measured by their sheer ignorance.
Who's going to save our naqisha's and laquisha's
When all we see is her hip size and thick thighs.
Perpetuated by our singers and rap stars?
Blinding us by stirring up falsehoods of endearment.
These meant to cover up our augments.
Hardly meant, but just as deadly as round sent to chase down streets aimlessly.
While we claim we want it all, just not you.
You care for me as long as my cares can be ignored,
My desires unaffordable.
So our hope goes un-restored.
Accomplishments go unheard
Lost to the seas of wrongs we've done and continue.
Two against the world three against the current.
Control goes to the victor!
Which of course is not here among us to stand and be accounted for.
So we put our lives in the hands of those that stole and bargained away status holding ancestors.
While drug abusers crying over tracks the revolution shall be televised but
Who believes Bobbies lies anyways?
This is amazing hands out while big belly white politicians are
Replaced with model quality liars of the same up bringing
Prostitutes our lime light elders and peers.
That isn't as amazing as the state of emergency in our urban streets where
Convicts are our heroes,
Drug dealers our teachers,
And fiends their aids.
Road to obliteration.
Conceder this ain't even the aftermath.
Just the soft sigh of breath in-between the continued onslaught
Of our most valuable possessions.
Our souls...
Not even in the biblical yet in the stereotypical since.
Since cents goes to the victor...
Our lives into the sewers of tranquility.
Happy to just be, so control goes to the victor.
The load goes straight to shoulders the Burdon ours to bare. And our arms are out,
Alarms give no sign of stopping the cries innocence
or other wise. SO..
Our off spring seem destined for low tolerance matched only by their degrading mentality.
Stating all they'll ever see beings and ends with streets numbered from 1st to lost avenue.
Big thinkers not here, not unless your talking video hoes and
Late night unplugged video hoes.
So control goes to the victor.
Souls go to the lesser and all were left with is our confessions
That fall on deaf ears.
Fear success and no man,
Work hard at keeping the system in working order.
Working order aka for without reason
Kill or be killed.
Ask not what your country thinks of you,
But think the world of your country.
Order is dictated by the victor, guess that's what keeps me out of it.
Mad at the labels yet govern by their restraints.
Mad with reason, still gone in the wind.
Chaotic the world's secret agenda.
So control goes to the victor...
Control goes to the victory...
Control goes out the window with each victorious
Up springing head strong gun tooting
Secretive back stabber
Willing to kill family members to get close enough to the nine gates.
So I write in sevens waiting for the hour.
The hour control is returned to the people.
