A mass of hands press on the market window Ghosts of progress Dressed in slow death Feeding on hunger And glaring through the promise Upon the food that
It's a beautiful world we live in A sweet romantic place Beautiful people everywhere The way they show they care makes me want to say It's a beautiful
It's just another bombtrack And suckas be thinkin' that they can fade it But I'm going to drop it at a higher level 'Cause I'm inclined to stoop down
C'mon! Go...go...go...ugh.. Go...go...go...go... Drop the A-U-T-O-L-O-G-I-C Drop the A-U-T-O-L-O-G-I-C Hey! Drop the A-U-T-O-L-O-G-I-C C'mon Drop auto
fuckas lost their minds No escape from the mass mind rape Play it again jack and then rewind the tape Play it again and again and again Until ya mind
the lane Ugh...clear the lane Ugh...clear the lane Ugh...clear the lane Defiance Rippin' up the south set Every time I'm grippin' the mic it is a sound threat Resist against
The hills find peace Locked armed guard posts Safe from the screams Of the children born as ghosts Gates guns and alarms Shape the calm of the dawn Peering
ve endured My people were left with no choice but to decide To conform to a system Their minds enslaved Their souls encaged I feel the rage It's brutality
Down on the street where the faces shine Floatin' around i'm a real low mind See a pretty thing in a wall See a pretty thing in a wall In a wall In
Solo, I'm a soloist on a solo list All live, never on a floppy disk Inka, inka, bottle of ink Paintings of rebellion Drawn up by the thoughts I think
This microphone explodes, shattering the molds Ya either drop tha hits like de la O or get tha Fuck off tha commode Wit tha sure shot, sure ta make tha
Silence Something about silence makes me sick 'Cause silence can be violent Sorta like a slit wrist If the vibe was suicide Then you would push da
[Zach de la Rocha] Transmission, third World War, third round A decade of the weapon of sound above ground No Shelter if you're looking for shade I lick
A ballots dead so a bullet's what I get A thousand years they had tha tools We should be takin' 'em Fuck tha G-ride I want the machines that are makin
You tell me you like the taste You just need an excuse You tell me it calms your nerves You just think it looks cool You tell me you want to be different
[*whispers*] Feel the funk blast.. Feel the funk blast.. FEEL THE THE FUNK BLAST!! FEEL THE FUNK BLAST!!! A-FEEL THE FUNK BLAST!! Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
Killing in the name of Some of those that work forces, are the saints that burn crosses Now ya do what they told ya Don't you die or justify You're
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more. No, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more Well, I wake up in the morning Fold my hands and pray for
