lirik lagu narcy - justice tomorrow
the intro sample is by fairuz. the song is zahrat almadain (المداىؑن زهرة) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ylgcmjh4aj4
ragtop:
nope – ain’t none left
knock down house make build up stress
ain’t no justice ain’t, no peace, ain’t know place safe left to be
we got refugees from haiti to the p to those fleeing toes freezing wet from new orleans
we got people waiting for their piece of the cake and it’s a long line of empty plates
from l.a. to the bay to the wastes of manila, where your waste is they food
sh-t that you’d throw away gets consumed with a little but of regret, whole lotta not enough yet get your dollars anyway that you can
(there ain’t no justice)
when the subjects of this verse are referred to subjectively as bums and murderers
media perverts the scale of the danger ‘til neighbours
all nervous eye each other like strangers or worse
no justice, so get up, stand up
clap your d-mn hands do whatever you can to just speak out, seek out the secrets that leak out, even though don’t wanna speak ‘bout, there ain’t no
excentrik:
pictured in the pain of mans eye hanged without a crime to explain, the town crowds around for a photo they’re proud of but suddenly, subtly and angel cries his name
they didn’t mention this i chapter 8, it’s all written in past tense like they past the hate, now they paint a rosy picture like times have changed like we forgot about the prisons and crack cocaine
remember the names, whisper them in recitations shrouded in shame, cuz in the end you gonna meet them on a powerless plane and watch your feet and hands shackled to a towering crane and when it drops…
(there ain’t no justice)
when privilege will yield indifference like history needs some ritalin
like misery sees your system as an accessory for pillaging meant to be the end of it
whether you an immigrant or children of slaves, you can see it in the difference of the living in conditions like missions tortured indians force ‘em to christians, we call ‘em palestinians we ain’t missing
the narcicyst:
forced to write to the cost of life, plus tax arab f-ck that! kharab 3rith al-deen, thareb maridh they running! huddle among us, stunning with a gun and a muzzle, the struggle for honour bubble the chron! we got some trouble to calm up, seek the subtlest armour, speak the humblest karma to jeeps that rubble the harbour. sa’t il-soda recorder, past disorders drafted, trapped at borders laughing. brought up modern tactics, sodom and gomorra, when they bought saddam, should have tossed his moms, of course i’m wrong (right…) songs of a foster life, tauntful spite, talk to mics like phil jackson. life that k!ll death, divisive ill step to heave like isra3 al-mi3raj and this talk will dislodge the sick knowledge minaret, dishonest spite to the plight of an immigrant ent-tled to live again
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