Tales From the Darkside (Remix)

Verse One: Ice Cube Peace - don't make me laugh! All I hear is motherf**kers rappin sucotash Livin large, tellin me to get out the gang I'm a nigga, gotta live by the trigger How the f**k do you figure? that I can say peace and the gunshots will cease?! Every cop killer goes ignored They just send another nigga to the morgue A point scored- they could give a f**k about us They rather catch us with guns and white powder If I was old, they'd probably be a friend of me Since I'm young, they consider me the enemy They kill ten of me to get the job correct To serve, protect, and break a niggas neck 'cause I'm the one with the trunk of funk And 'f**k tha Police' in the tape deck You should listen to me 'cause there's more to see Call my neighborhood a ghetto 'cause it houses minorities The other color don't know you can run but not hide These are tales from the darkside... Verse Two: You wanna free Africa, I stare at yuh 'cause we ain't got it too good in America I can't f**k with them overseas My homeboy died over a key of cocaine It was plain and simple The 9mm went <pop> to the temple <pop pop pop> was the sound I put the bitch down And ran to the schoolyard bathroom Looked in the trash can yo it had room So I ducked my a*s in it for a minute Covered with trash I had to lay back Mad as f**k, thinkin' about the payback Tonite the crew gonna have a little fun I went home and cut the barrel of my shotgun It's gettin critical - I stole a 5.0 I let it go - drive real slow I yelled out 'Ice Cube s*cka' The shot-gun kicked - and it murdered motherf**kers I told you last album when I got a sawed off, bodies are hauled off Its a shame, that niggas die young But to the light side it don't matter none It'll be a drive by homicide But to me its just another tale from the darkside... Verse Three: Chuck D Standing in the middle of war In the middle we flex When we die, we won't make +Jet+ +Ebony+ can't see to the lightside The term they apply to us is a nigga Call it what you want, cause I'm comin from the coroner Sayin my rhymes with a Ph.D. Who's black - don't wanna role - sells his soul Watch his head go rollin Who the f**k are they foolin? Nobody knows, but I suppose the color of my clothes Matches the color of the one on my face as they wonder whats under my waist [Standin on the verge] of them gettin brown thats a fact got a fear on their bozack Run, run, run, their a*s off, they can not hide