lirik lagu r.u.i.n. - st.hood
(verse 1) (r.u.i.n.)
ivory tower academic, you can expect him/
to have troubling looking in the mirror, learning to accept it/
see, cause i can read a book called ‘the problem of pain’/
that shows pain isn’t my problem at all, cause it truly ain’t/
my real problems are cowardice, privilege, and status/
i was born white but when i’m blamed for it, i just can’t stand it/
our preliminary anguish/ begins with military language/
expressing our sorrow to all those who can’t understand it/
screaming at heaven “what the h-ll?!”, don’t ask what is h-ll? /
they living through it, their wish is at the bottom of the well/
so consider me a goonie, not a chris columbus/
cause i’ve seen poverty’s riches, they yearning for justice/
at my life i am disgusted/ so blessed are the dest-tute/
share a lot with the rest of you/ but we better learn
to discuss if/ we are the deadly dreaded discontents/
of a civilization god never meant to exist/
(hook) (woodz)
welcome to st.hood/
whether on the block or in a mansion, you know sh-t ain’t good/
welcome to st.hood/
wonder if heaven got a ghetto? yup, its here so stay put /
welcome to st.hood/
whether on the block or in a mansion, you know sh-t ain’t good/
welcome to st.hood/
where pains are lessons, and revolution brews life that tastes good/
(verse 2) (woodz)
money is the motive, tax ‘n’ control’em/
j-pedo is my homie, generation raised off hot dogs ‘n’ bologna/
only hope in the lotto/
ain’t no such thing as starting from the bottom of the bottle uh/
but we still here/
momma told me if u wanna stack the paper gotta get a career/
only when i’m sober minded is my judgment clear/
and the media reminds me of what it looks like to live in fear/
cops ‘n’ robbers, stocks ‘n’ bala clavas, iraq gun shot non stop gotta survive it
by any means necessary/
fiends for the green no such thing as fighting fairly/
hosting party as bohemian grove no joke/
united snakes don’t play the game, they pave the road/
two lanes with only one way to go
maintain capital gain price tags on your soul…/
(hook) (woodz)
(verse 3) (r.u.i.n.)
my grandmother keeps sending us lottery tickets/
but that’s just a tax on the stupid and the poverty stricken/
imagine if 50 million is what they’re giving away/
what they got in their pocket, from the sh-t that you play/
grabbing your keys and coins to scratch up your bingo cards/
like their pet-tions to god/ to change your positional stars/
so look at all the people reading ‘rich dad, poor dad’/
they ain’t got time to study politics or know what’s norad/
sometimes i feel like unions arguing over their payment/
are just a bunch of slaves, talking about their wages/
so thank you mcguinty for my tuition discount/
maybe i shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds me or take this route/
i fully understand that i’m in a privileged cl-ss/
but that don’t mean capitalism was ever fit to last/
or that my comfort, is an excuse for injustice/
so i desire the kingdom of god, nothing else but this/
(hook) (woodz)
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