(Always writing... always revising) Shorty feels the pressure on his shoulders as he's liftin it Wonders why the elders always tell him not to question it Options at the bottom of the ladder got him desperate But all he ever wanted was a weapon to protect him with Riding a 36 through the veins of the beacon The water is the heart, its rainin when its beatin In the city that I sleep in I'm dreamin while I'm awake The miserable escape but theyre too high to ponder faith But who am I, to use their plight to illustrate a rhyme With everything around me that I've never had to live But I observe the inner qualities to serve the people properly Tell them that their freedom isn't found in private property Prostitutes are more than just the folks who sell their bodies See this shit applies to those whos souls are a commodity I can hear the colony callin me back to be The bullet in the belly while they lock, load, and squeeze Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be They made a mockery out of the possibility But under constant revision is the poem that I be Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be I be the emcee in the place not to be But under constant revision is the poem that I be Shorty feels oppression on his shoulders as he's liftin it Wonders why the elders always tell him not to question it Conjuring the courage just to conquer whats been killin him He says its fucked up cause he knows no other synonym Hidden from the truth, seen youths turned to troops Whos goal at 21 is to turn 22, true tuition's too high and those with the privelage to pay don't listen, it's a shame, go figurin The name of the father, the son and holy lyrics I suppose those who know what I'm sayin when they hear it Might rage against the system, or hate me for dissin The house in which they live in as a slave to the rhythm But I walk the broken sidewalk paved with the magic Of those who walk past it, just to survive traffic If paybacks a bitch, then gravity's a bastard Avenues I used to call familiar turned backward Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be They made a mockery out of the possibility But under constant revision is the poem that I be Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be I be the emcee in the place not to be But under constant revision is the poem that I be Yo.. shorty's getting grown old enough to read the messages Understands the elders as he then begins to question them One generation handed down what they've inherited Another generation rewriting the master narrative Older folks overdose on broken hopes often Children then begin to grow comatose and lost up In the clutches of the wickedest fingers Indicative of the systems inhibited Ability to listen to the voice of the dyin who've been tired of cryin Nightsticks fall where projectiles are flyin Through a straight path narrow like the gap between heaven and hell They skip class cause they goin to jail, true Students prevail when the knowledge is passed But others seem to fail sittin flat on their ass And now I be the emcee in the place not be Under constant revision in the poem that I be Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be I be the emcee in the place not to be But under constant revision is the poem that I be
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(Always writing... always revising) Shorty feels the pressure on his shoulders as he's liftin it Wonders why the elders always tell him not to question it Options at the bottom of the ladder got him desperate But all he ever wanted was a weapon to protect him with Riding a 36 through the veins of the beacon The water is the heart, its rainin when its beatin In the city that I sleep in I'm dreamin while I'm awake The miserable escape but theyre too high to ponder faith But who am I, to use their plight to illustrate a rhyme With everything around me that I've never had to live But I observe the inner qualities to serve the people properly Tell them that their freedom isn't found in private property Prostitutes are more than just the folks who sell their bodies See this shit applies to those whos souls are a commodity I can hear the colony callin me back to be The bullet in the belly while they lock, load, and squeeze Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be They made a mockery out of the possibility But under constant revision is the poem that I be Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be I be the emcee in the place not to be But under constant revision is the poem that I be Shorty feels oppression on his shoulders as he's liftin it Wonders why the elders always tell him not to question it Conjuring the courage just to conquer whats been killin him He says its fucked up cause he knows no other synonym Hidden from the truth, seen youths turned to troops Whos goal at 21 is to turn 22, true tuition's too high and those with the privelage to pay don't listen, it's a shame, go figurin The name of the father, the son and holy lyrics I suppose those who know what I'm sayin when they hear it Might rage against the system, or hate me for dissin The house in which they live in as a slave to the rhythm But I walk the broken sidewalk paved with the magic Of those who walk past it, just to survive traffic If paybacks a bitch, then gravity's a bastard Avenues I used to call familiar turned backward Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be They made a mockery out of the possibility But under constant revision is the poem that I be Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be I be the emcee in the place not to be But under constant revision is the poem that I be Yo.. shorty's getting grown old enough to read the messages Understands the elders as he then begins to question them One generation handed down what they've inherited Another generation rewriting the master narrative Older folks overdose on broken hopes often Children then begin to grow comatose and lost up In the clutches of the wickedest fingers Indicative of the systems inhibited Ability to listen to the voice of the dyin who've been tired of cryin Nightsticks fall where projectiles are flyin Through a straight path narrow like the gap between heaven and hell They skip class cause they goin to jail, true Students prevail when the knowledge is passed But others seem to fail sittin flat on their ass And now I be the emcee in the place not be Under constant revision in the poem that I be Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be I be the emcee in the place not to be But under constant revision is the poem that I be
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