Verse One (Dermo):
Welcome to these wretched lands where everybody suffer but the culprit
The truth remains eclipsed from the lulled tricks
Commandments are forsaken by puppet masters from pulpits
Loyalty placed in the wrong hands will get your skull split
Distance is kept from dipshits
With less room made for the games; minds warped and scripts flipped
When you’re at ease, cats test and itch for busted lips
Then, once the ruckus is brought, dimes dropped and freedom’s stripped
So, we don’t resort to selling ki’s and grams
We’re thinking of an upgrade from Mickey D’s and Spam
Set a timeline to leave your current jam
Though the areas are gentrified, you’re determined to build a game plan
To preserve your community, but you’re met with mutiny
And, granted no immunity by suckaz speaking lunacy
Sad to see, truthfully, that kids master truancy
Start behaving ruthlessly and rule out unity
‘Til mothers break down from a sentence of a eulogy
And, girls are promised the stars, but doomed to promiscuity
This cruddy system drains the life’s energy
They say, it’s best to step with ease
But, you’re in jeopardy of getting erased from known memory with no clemency
But, fuck that, the ultimate goal is serenity
Prospects redeem themselves from street servers to head of an embassy
Following successful recipes so your future heirs can uphold your legacy
In the pursuit of health, love, awareness, and wealth
And, plus, you won’t feel as if you’re scarred from slave’s welts
It’s best that you pace your step
‘Cause niggaz bark on how they touch souls, but can’t save themselves
Don’t even waste your breath
‘Cause you’ll get dropped quicker then bath salts blended with crystal meth, or, worse, brain death

Hook (Lox Tha Rippa):
There’s a war going on in the street
We’re living in a cold world, so they pack the heat
Don’t sleep, Babylon a sit pon di seat
And, yu dun know they don’t want mi people to eat (Blow!)
In the ghetto, they want guns to clap
Drugs, basketball, and can’t rap
Mash up your dreams with a baseball bat
Stress fi mek Blackman have heart attack

Dermo talking:
Yo man, this concrete jungle is vicious, man. People’s minds are so twisted. They help the oppressors bring ‘em down, man. Therefore, there’s no advancement in human life.

Verse Two (Dermo):
Some folks living with emotional warfare are spiritually impaired
The moment you step out your lair, you’d feel the heat from cold stares of sissy niggaz
Since those squares never fight fair
Now, it’s war they declare ‘til you’re stuffed like éclairs from fingered triggers
Some would sell a zip code out for a taste of Diddy’s figures
And, predators pounce on prey with vicious vigor
Craving for the high life like George, Weezie, and Lionel
For crumbs, we turn to vultures ‘cause the gut touch the spinal
For some, the bar’s the church, the bottle’s the Bible
The liquor’s the Father, Son, Unholy Spirit, and rival
The shots are the forbidden scriptures that grip you
‘Cause you tend to miss the signs from the fatal mixture
So, you guzzle ‘til every ounce is up
And, Tyler Perry films, gospel plays, and soap operas are relationship counselors (yeah, right)
‘Cause love’s lost, and hate rules the household
Fam(ily) structure is destroyed; they grow soulless and cold
As the days pass, the world starts cringing
With street brutality, you don’t need Old Sparky or syringes
Played lower than manwhores that are burned from facing yeast
‘Cause they follow lost vanguards that yearned for wasted streets
Pathetic tactics got your men in the dirt
‘Cause you proceed to get ratchet on enemies’ turfs
Before you hear the final drop of the hour glass’ sand
And, your life is in the next man’s hands
The words ring, watch who you’re trying
Sugar-hearted try to measure up to the live men
That find numbers of excuses to blast their irons
In these modern days, beef stays open like hymen
Without the remorse, they strip you of your timing
‘Cause, from the sound of thunder and lightning, your face (is) colliding head-on with ghetto Vikings
The blindly-directed cease to check angles
One false step, you’re left mashed and mangled

Hook (Lox Tha Rippa):
There’s a war going on in the street
We’re living in a cold world, so they pack the heat
Don’t sleep, Babylon a sit pon di seat
And, yu dun know they don’t want mi people to eat (Blow!)
In the ghetto, they want guns to clap
Drugs, basketball, and can’t rap
Mash up your dreams with a baseball bat
Stress fi mek Blackman have heart attack