Search results for 'who we are by slum village' Page #3

the team
But ain't make the cut
We come from the ghetto
Our village the slums
Where mothers are crying
From losing their sons
The heart of the struggle
This

Where Are You Now My Son

Joan Baez

Where Are You Now, My Son?

1973

(Words and Music by Joan Baez)

It's walking to the battleground that always makes me cry
I've met so few folks in my time who weren't afraid to die

banana clip, I'm getting potassium
Imma chill with the gun talk
Whole village behind me with my slum walk
Plum fool getting hit with the gun stock
Mavi

upon us pardon the bullet chipping our armor
We never had a proper defense cus we the weak men
Getting thrashed by the animals and they will eat men

Yes Sir, I Will

Crass

Christ the Bootleg

1999

has taken place that we are governed by fools?


*
We've had problems from self-appointed Gods from Bishops to MPs.
They've tried to ban our

already got got

We ain't even got guts anymore
We just play by the rules
Hoping to survive
Do we even see ourselves

We fight like
Like it's never

Suspect Chin Music

Method Man

Tical 2000: Judgement Day

1998

a choke hold 

losin' control bringing drama by the boatload 

it takes drama 

in the pillage now of cappadonna 

my split persona hit their village

Light Up the Spliff

Bizzy Bone

Thugs Revenge

2006

side by side
And yes we get it on, one time most definitely
Further the mind, shallow waters and know life
Give me that water and love, we gotta make it

Africa
Unified especially in the minds of Diaspora 
Slums to the village, Townships to the gritty core 
To refugee camps and lands plagued by war 
Youth

memorial, we see faces, names, dates. All are reminders that the suffering brought by war is intensely personal and its violence indiscriminate. In the broad

the slum punk
Get crunk, get her crunk crunk
Get her drunk drunk
Out the trunk with this bump bump
I'm the slum punk
(Brass)
(Brass is King T.R.U)
(TRU Gang)

Mural

Lupe Fiasco

Tetsuo & Youth

2015

of the weak spot
Cause he want what we got, like yeah

Then forge poetry like a young honory morrissey
Then spit it to the golden locks thots
Who like

I was born in a small village
I was still a child when we were raided by soldiers
Foreign soldiers
Torn from my elders, I was made to speak their

line sniffers
Shot callin' but y'all triggered, that's y'all business
In Park Hill and the Slum Village we all dealers
And y'all feel us, the feelin'

of it
Those who spoke of love have suffered killed by the public
Men are suckers thus subject to be puppets
And are suckered much by little or nothing

fine us interests
Indulge indigenous images
In our villages
Vintage shit
Fight for vengeance
Real niggas
We fight with
Pen
Man
Ship
Bill us in buildings

We've no food or money and no choice but to sell her

But Milky-White's my best friend

Look at her!

There are bugs on her dugs
There are flies in

me
It’s never working, Yeah I’m for certain
My gears are turning, My clocks revolving
And as we’re growing
Through the motions
We still searching
Still

Lord to the ghetto, king to the street corner
Police warmers
This is where life expectancy meets karma
Street sagas
Told by a tortured sinner who

your mother?
Mom went to the market. 
And who are you?
I am Mr. Fart, 
from the village up there.
I'm here to have a fart match
with your mom.
You will

walking's overrated
And we get by, through God and motivation
I was boxed in a room patiently waiting,
Mentally located in the book of Job
They say freedom is

who saw delight in it
Righten it, now I write the poetry to brighten it
Sight in it, now I got a family to fight in it
I can't do this by myself, I

Light Up the Spliff

Bone-Ified

Thug Smoke Out

side by side
And yes we get it on, one time most definitely
Further the mind, shallow waters and know life
Give me that water and love, we gotta make it

Real life I got to voice out mhern
Stay True till I die
I can never loose ma loose ma Yeah we big

Better watch your mouth and watch who you talk