Verse 1:
Hungry is an adjective attached to my philosophy
It's gotta be, progress revolves around economy
And I can see the consequence of capital first-hand
Monorail construction pushed the tenants off the land
My people get ready
It's about to get heavy,
And when I'm not humbled then I got fam to check me
Silence won't protect me so I check one-two
And fight without fighting like the joint by Sun Tzu
On the hill, adjacent to Boeing Field
You can hear the planes flying over me behind my vocals
We speak in the Beacon Hill slang
With a wonderful blend of black language and immigrant accent
And if the sun's out, half the kids will be absent
I'm navigating streets, sometimes it's like a labyrinth
I paint my voice while Sabzi builds the canvas
To translate my ancestors anthems
Hook (2x):
It's a southside revival, put your hands high
Let your arms be the pillars that be holdin' up the sky
I heard a few heads say that hip-hop is dead, no it's not
It's just malnourished and underfed
Verse 2:
Now the reason that they killed made the reason that we came to be
Trying to eat and organize simultaneously
But instead most will settle for less
I can't front I give a fuck if Ronald Reagan is dead
He turned segments of the population into crack fiends
Eradicated everything we gained in the '60's
Back to square 1, let's revise the strategy
To reload the gun and bring about a radical change son
These tough talking cowards ain't hard
They'll bounce on the squad when it's time to go to war
Like George Bush did to the National Guard
Real world-like swordplay, vernacular shark
Veterans of American wars
They get home maladjusted with post-traumatic stress syndrome
Peace to my big brother, leavin' in a week
Stay safe in the Middle East, bruh, get home safely
Repeat hook
Verse 3:
I'm convinced that a return to the basics is needed
I like blizzes that burn long like DVS pieces
My speech releases fire from the beast within
I acknowledge it's a game, I justify my need to win
Now, some get hip and some choose to stay ignorant
Friction leads to fire now the cauldron is simmering
World champion B-Boys up in Jefferson
Brothers gotta document for those not remembering
Both Props and Flavor magazines, rest in peace
I breathe deep, proceed to clutch a mic and bless her dream
You say there's no time to study, people look
You got time to take a shit then you got time to read a book
I proceed to leave my footprints embedded on the block
My first-born is learning to walk upon
Cops pour salt over the market, the south end is marching
We dedicate this song to the dearly departed
Repeat hook
