Lyrics:
This is the story of three little pigs
And the projected damage that they did, pig number one was white
Thought everything he did was right,
yea
Im not a new jack, yea
In.my city. Not a new jack
Not a new jack in the city, prince akeem wit that semi, got dat white girl like demi
Imma turner
degrees in December
That's why the years go by so fast
It seem like yesterday I used to
Sport that pleather MCM member
Tryin' to be a jack boy, me, Mark
the mine, Lord, Lord
I'll get it from the man in the mine
Well John Henry went to the Captain
Said the captain, what can you do
I can hoist a jack, I can lay
died
Oh they took John Henry to the White House
And they buried him in the sand
Every locomotive come roarin' by
Says there lies a steel drivin'
little white kids to jack
I stopped wearin' blue, wasn't trippin' on red
Too busy squabbin' with the skinheads
Stupid questions, distract the class
accepted the baloney and trash
And it's only a mask
Worn by a character who wants what you have
He thought I bought his ticket to this station
Because
threats
Send them back
Anthrax
Can't handle that
Now way they prepared for that
Turn the whole city upside down
Over white powder like new jack
the world go by and my thought connect
I think about the time past and the time to come
Reminisce on Bed-Stuy when I was spry and young
I used to try
a jack, reach me that cheese
Make a stupid move, nigga, you bleed
Bustin 17, please don't scream, don't run
Either long range street sweep
Never never
brain, a clean thought
3 decades later i picked up the pen
The charades was over i was born again
From a slave to the jack of all trade
No mental
autograph on a napkin?
Oh, that's odd, I just happened to run out of tissue
Yeah, hand me that, on second thought I'd be glad then
"Thanks, dawg, name's
goddamn autograph on a napkin?
Oh, that's odd, I just happened to run out of tissue
Yeah, hand me that, on second thought I'd be glad then
"Thanks, dawg,
to me 'cause my true love was poetry
White was good and bad was black but black was just a massa lackey
Built for that B. Nimble Jack and I'd like
immigrants
Jack you for your paper stack
Rob you of your innocence
Taping of the scene of crimes
Swabbing for my fingerprints
Thought about my life
You
stupidity
By the way, you gangsters should know
One of your victims was a three-year-old girl
Well, you gang members, you
Still don't get it, do ya?
(With
a book out called The Emperor Wears No Clothes. The author's name is Jack Herer. It's published by Queen of Clubs, and I think there's ads for it in High
rather be poppin we rocking
I thought that you knew this
I'm politicking with this chicken wondering if I'm a creep
Lil hoodrat bitch from South Philly
Verse 1-
Step in the club with my air force one's
In the back of the club I got air force guns
Full of that red, white, and blue - I'm +Amped Up+
Wyte with some rednecks
Crawlin' up in that box Chevy
Same size as a truck (Ah yeah)
Call it candy painted twice
White god damn bulls
It's gotti always
(verse 1)
Yo I got contacts in my jack I don’t remember making
Stunting since a youngin, didn’t know my limitations
Limitless no stimulus check I
tomorrow
Who's That peeping in my window
Pow... nobody now
Rooted in my black thoughts things fall apart when we leave
Seldom it seem I which the throne
and die gracefully
Be anti-ran-by-agency and be anti-white-man-violating-me (get 'em high)
Seen it all, life is a bitch, I'm stuck in a crystal ball
that, punk?
Yo man, whassup with the jack move fool?
I ain't got no money man
What you aimin that pistol at me for man?
Ay man, why don't you go
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