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Murder Of a Teenage Life
Mos Def
The murder of a teenage life
Fire from the cold steel
The heat from the brights
The temperature of flesh and the shortness of breath
The murder of a teenage threat
The aroma of sesamilia Dollar Superstar
Skama like a new cocaine tobacco leaf
Ecstatic tabernists fire water and freaks
The murder of a teenage chief
My easy speaking is as easy as it seems to be
Hungry belly jamma busts off easily
Balloon bang. POP!
Hot as a bang spot in Bangkok
Colder than a pimp glock
Aim shot, the frame drops
Pressure pushed him to the earth like a rain drop
Take not life in vein
And how the preacher was saying
Remember!
Anyways they laid him in a stray box
Dark suit and gray socks
The neighborhood is all distraught
Candles lit the stoop at the park
Where the family and students are
Confused, in awe
They gape into each others arms
ITÂ’S MURDER!
New absence from a mothers arm
Even the warmth from the motherÂ’s arms
CouldnÂ’t keep her son from harm
From standing where the gun was drawn
Over come, done and done. HeÂ’s goneÂ…
MURDER!
Shells fell like a bell that rung
Blood bursts, body temperature fell and plunged
And by the time it took the medics to come
The breath eased out of his lungs
And his soul eased out of the slums
And the voice eased out of the drums
The sirens through their ears, they sung
MURDER!
Telephone wire, sneakers hung
MURDER!
For the Black and young
MURDER!!!!!!!!!!!
And the Aves they from
I am from the block the PRESIDENT DID NOT CAMPAIGN ON
Where the dollar that the working poor slave for is made on
Where hustlers stretch the yay long
And hustle hard for an outpost to trade on
Flip it over and make more
Where the blocks are yellow taped off
Where the young blood is trained on Obese to the Fakesoft
Where the pressure just stays on
But the lights and the heat donÂ’t
The place where you witness the true power of street folk
And thatÂ’s where IÂ’m coming from people
High post, low key
Eighth, o-z, and kilo
Law man, dope man
Adversary, amigo
Preacher man, pimp hand
Both folding their C-notes
A Black Fist clutching deliverance for the People
Young hand reach out, strong hand reach in
Slap the devilÂ’s hand to make the fucker stop reaching
compositores: DANTE SMITH, PHARRELL WILLIAMS, PHARRELL L WILLIAMS
Você é fã de Mos Def? Gosta da letra da música?
Compartilhe com seus amigos.
Fire from the cold steel
The heat from the brights
The temperature of flesh and the shortness of breath
The murder of a teenage threat
The aroma of sesamilia Dollar Superstar
Skama like a new cocaine tobacco leaf
Ecstatic tabernists fire water and freaks
The murder of a teenage chief
My easy speaking is as easy as it seems to be
Hungry belly jamma busts off easily
Balloon bang. POP!
Hot as a bang spot in Bangkok
Colder than a pimp glock
Aim shot, the frame drops
Pressure pushed him to the earth like a rain drop
Take not life in vein
And how the preacher was saying
Remember!
Anyways they laid him in a stray box
Dark suit and gray socks
The neighborhood is all distraught
Candles lit the stoop at the park
Where the family and students are
Confused, in awe
They gape into each others arms
ITÂ’S MURDER!
New absence from a mothers arm
Even the warmth from the motherÂ’s arms
CouldnÂ’t keep her son from harm
From standing where the gun was drawn
Over come, done and done. HeÂ’s goneÂ…
MURDER!
Shells fell like a bell that rung
Blood bursts, body temperature fell and plunged
And by the time it took the medics to come
The breath eased out of his lungs
And his soul eased out of the slums
And the voice eased out of the drums
The sirens through their ears, they sung
MURDER!
Telephone wire, sneakers hung
MURDER!
For the Black and young
MURDER!!!!!!!!!!!
And the Aves they from
I am from the block the PRESIDENT DID NOT CAMPAIGN ON
Where the dollar that the working poor slave for is made on
Where hustlers stretch the yay long
And hustle hard for an outpost to trade on
Flip it over and make more
Where the blocks are yellow taped off
Where the young blood is trained on Obese to the Fakesoft
Where the pressure just stays on
But the lights and the heat donÂ’t
The place where you witness the true power of street folk
And thatÂ’s where IÂ’m coming from people
High post, low key
Eighth, o-z, and kilo
Law man, dope man
Adversary, amigo
Preacher man, pimp hand
Both folding their C-notes
A Black Fist clutching deliverance for the People
Young hand reach out, strong hand reach in
Slap the devilÂ’s hand to make the fucker stop reaching
compositores: DANTE SMITH, PHARRELL WILLIAMS, PHARRELL L WILLIAMS
Você é fã de Mos Def? Gosta da letra da música?
Compartilhe com seus amigos.
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