Lyrics:
years on my craft no pension never heard of me
Had a rhyme called the third degree
Not an overnight success catch bodies not a murder spree
Robb Free no
that I see
All races and religions, that's America to me
The place I work in, the worker by my side
The little town or city where my people lived
watch the rich have a blast
can we claw our way out no
can we truly be free no
programing mindless workers
new world order same old goals
I am a good boy
This is Breadline Britain
This free and promised
Land
Where the rich don't give a damn
Poeple
Getting hungry and people getting poor
People
safety glass
Seasons turning, dying grass
California, gilded crowns
Idle workers, counting down
Somewhere down, down
Down in the ocean of sound,
to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people, right on
A million workers working for nothing
You better give 'em what they really own
We got to put you
safety glass
Seasons turning, dying grass
California, gilded crowns
Idle workers, counting down
Somewhere down, down
Down in the ocean of sound,
to freestyle I got it written
Tell em keep out I need this beat loud as they can get it
No more free verses I could feed workers with this vision
Get em seeing
America to me
The place I work in
The worker by my side
The little town the city
Where my people lived and died
The howdy and the handshake
The air
There was hunger, unemployment and poverty,
Then in 1926 they decided to be free
So they all went on strike and
The workers told the unions, who
They tried to stick a dead body inside of me
Need no
Need no alibi
Honestly
I tell no lies
Wanted to stick an office worker inside of me
But I kept
on the road with my g
Lil shawty if you want it, promise that ain't coming free
I step in like a worker, walk out as a boss
Wine mix bag mix, still Iverson
the ordinary man
For assembly workers in the factory
For farmers toiling on the land
Down all the days
All nations will unite as one
A new horizon clear
America to me
The place I work in
The workers at my side
The little town, a city
Where my people live and die
The howdy and the handshake
The air
Oh, this is a story 'bout a guy named Al
And he lived in a sewer with his hamster pal
But the sanitation workers really didn't approve
So he
free
But I'm a worker bee
From eight to four
My days are full of bore
Down to the floor
Whole life is going for
Swamp is so deep
Woke up this morning
to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people, right on
A million workers working for nothing
You better give 'em what they
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel
You were talking so brave and so free
Giving me head on the unmade bed
While the limousines wait in
My spirit is winging
My soul is free
I'm doing my drinking
In good company
The music's screaming
My feet are flying
And everybody's
yes その日を待ってる
Hey man, hey man
そのまま fight to the end
Hey man, hey man
今こそ cry to be free (now)
夢の中で夢を消された
Oh no, oh no 哀れな worker bee
knowledge was your passion. You taught the worker's children to read, to write and to be free. Your thoughts and words couldn't be stopped, not in that jail,
paying duty, like the airports
Declare war on their workers for having free thought
Preparing for a union, proving they're getting cut short
I'm out here,
inhabiting the holes
That belong to Queen and Country,
But do not permit their souls
To be free like me.
The perspex chandelier
Began to melt and slip
could still kill me a nigga, so what?
If I was the president
I'd pay my mama's rent
Free my homies and them
Bulletproof my Chevy doors
Lay in
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