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!