Prison Riot

[Verse] Automatic 100 shots towards the dogmatic all static For the niggas that be thinkin' they could reform fascist While we itchin' they be bitchin' about the wrong matters Guerrilla War tactics You either fight for the truth or you bitch about a truce Momma ain’t raise no slouch ‘09 Gaddafi, yellin' “fuck yo couch!” Pastel Blues in the South No bootstraps but a boot in ya mouth Book smarts never put food in the house Yellin' with you crackas never got the bombs outta Afghan, Libya, Vietnam or Laos Thirst for the blood leavin' homes in a drought First sight of love was the death of a pig Fuck with my cuz' 'cause he did what he did If you ain’t with the shits then solidarity’s nothin' but a fib Ayy, ayy, ayy School of the virtuous, hurt whoever hurtin' you If they throwin' dirt on you, bury 'em Never let the propaganda flurry you Unlearn till you’re re-learnable Get to thinkin' “What would Kwame do?” Promise they’ll be proud of you [Chorus] African, this ya callin' every challenge surmountable African, this ya callin' every challenge surmountable African, this ya callin' every challenge surmountable African, this ya callin' every challenge surmountable African, this ya callin' every challenge surmountable African, this ya callin' every challenge surmountable [Outro: Ella Baker] I have had about forty or fifty years of struggle, ever since a little boy on the streets of Norfolk called me a nigga. I struck him back. And then I had to learn—I had to learn—I had to learn that, hitting back with my fists, one individual was not enough. It takes organization. It takes dedication. It takes the willingness to stand by and do what has to be done, when it has to be done!