Urban Souljah

"URBAN SOULJAH"
GRAVEYARD SHIFT

[Helicopters. Gunfire.]

Tombstone:
High tech weapons everywhere. We roll in the jungle. In the middle of the field, they tumble. Somebody gon' crumble after the rumble.
Urban souljah.

Tombstone:
Head it off, confident jet plane, low fuel, escort it to the runway, surely not gonna be a fun day. It's a gun day, warrior skills apply. Rebels in field, fire in Hell and sky. The deal: the fear of dyin' is real. Suck it up, never once to be revealed again, mess around, discourage the whole barrack. I know somebody's deceivin' me, but I'm fightin' to the end if I believe it, just somethin' about that thriller-iller in a nigga, yo, I gotta retrive 'em, splittin' them natural-born, we're raised to prey. We done brought the forty-five, forty-four carry, (you withdraw the blame, listen, engagin') on front page, eclipse the world courageous if they all end up with barren wages in cages.

Your left, your left, your left, now, get on down . . .
Now, stop and meet your fate. Wasteland gonna rock this place. Uh-huh, check it out, check it out. Uh-huh, check it out, check it out.

Sin:
Engage into combat, Armageddon is already takin' its place inside of my brain. Held down by chains, and I can't escape my evil way. Everyday seems to get a little bit more strange to the point where I cannot sleep. A good seed was sewn into full a grown tree with fruit as leaves, only to be chopped and burned. I don't think there'll ever be a remedy for my disease, as tears proceed bleed from eyes of those who scream as they desperately search for peace. A life of misery, all you've ever givin' me, I've tried to pray, but my faith won't let me go no further. If I got to die for something, it'll be my freedom. This ain't no physical war, it's all mental. Livin' in a final era of the very last pages of the Holy Bible. It's almost time to go, as judgement day awaits our mortal souls.

Sound off: one, two.
Sound off: three, four.

Tombstone:
This is world we live in, truly devoted, frustrations gettin' out. This splurge of mental traffic can
drive you crazy. More than enough problems we're facin'. That's why Stone keep his mind in a zone, huh. Real with ourselves, we way off in the wasteland, nobody wanna die. No, nobody really give a damn, strugglin's a mother. Gotta play it out, can't unroll your cover, on the down low hustle, trustin' in God, lettin' Him provide, we strivin' survivors. Ain't about what it was, what it is, the deal, real gorillas in the midst.

Tombstone:
High tech weapons everywhere. We roll in the jungle. In the middle of the field, they tumble. Somebody gon' crumble after the rumble.
Urban souljah.