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Tales From the Darkside (Remix)
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Ice Cube
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1
Verse One: Ice Cube
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Peace - don't make me laugh!
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All I hear is motherfuckers rappin sucotash
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Livin large, tellin me to get out the gang
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I'm a nigga, gotta live by the trigger
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How the fuck do you figure?
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that I can say peace and the gunshots will cease?!
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Every cop killer goes ignored
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They just send another nigga to the morgue
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A point scored- they could give a fuck about us
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They rather catch us with guns and white powder
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If I was old, they'd probably be a friend of me
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Since I'm young, they consider me the enemy
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They kill ten of me to get the job correct
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To serve, protect, and break a niggas neck
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Cuz I'm the one with the trunk of funk
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And 'Fuck tha Police' in the tape deck
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You should listen to me cuz there's more to see
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Call my neighborhood a ghetto cuz it houses minorities
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The other color don't know you can run but not hide
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These are tales from the darkside...
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Verse Two:
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You wanna free Africa, I stare at yuh
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Cuz we ain't got it too good in America
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I can't fuck with them overseas
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My homeboy died over a key of cocaine
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It was plain and simple
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The 9mm went to the temple
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was the sound I put the bitch down
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And ran to the schoolyard bathroom
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Looked in the trash can yo it had room
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So I ducked my ass in it for a minute
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Covered with trash I had to lay back
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Mad as fuck, thinkin' about the payback
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Tonite the crew gonna have a little fun
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I went home and cut the barrel of my shotgun
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It's gettin critical - I stole a 5.0
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I let it go - drive real slow
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I yelled out 'Ice Cube sucka'
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The shot-gun kicked - and it murdered motherfuckers
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I told you last album
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when I got a sawed off, bodies are hauled off
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Its a shame, that niggas die young
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But to the light side it don't matter none
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It'll be a drive by homicide
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But to me its just another tale from the darkside...
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Verse Three: Chuck D
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Standing in the middle of war
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In the middle we flex
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When we die, we won't make +Jet+
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+Ebony+ can't see to the lightside
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The term they apply to us is a nigga
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Call it what you want, cause I'm comin from the coroner
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Sayin my rhymes with a Ph.D.
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Who's black - don't wanna role - sells his soul
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Watch his head go rollin
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Who the fuck are they foolin?
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Nobody knows, but I suppose the color of my clothes
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Matches the color of the one on my face
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as they wonder whats under my waist
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[Standin on the verge] of them gettin brown
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thats a fact got a fear on their bozack
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Run, run, run, their ass off, they can not hide
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