Tekster: Blue Scholars. Bananas.

Those who front and don?t really want trouble, step to the side like a S1W, the NW north of NWA?s place of origin, originators of the first general strike, roots of our labour is thick, still awaitin? the fruits of our labour to get, higher than a 747 jet, though when we say now, they say not yet,
They don?t feel it but give it respect, there?s no hard feelings more paper to collect, though I can care less, family is fed, clothes on they back, shelter overhead, with debts climb higher than paychecks can reach, whoever ask next for a free CD will catch a bad one, trust us believe you meet probably tens of thousands of people just like me in a town, in a town,
In a town not big enough for ego to breathe, we plea unity, but never build the bridges between, and if you travel, to the next town you might find the shit surprising they all act just like us, carryin? the legacy of people divided, plagued by enfided(?) tight knit survivin?, people on the outside lookin? right about to choose the safe route to fit they own palate, ignore the rest at the same time, rest get restless, and blame it on the other success it gets twisted, crabbed(?) and the barrel existence, where no amount of noise make the powerful listen,
(?)pistols are drawn, we bout ta, shine like Mr. Sinister?s arm, and the songs that they sold to the devil?s are gone, we all vagabonds, home is whatever we stand upon,
Take a picture, it last longer, think they forgot the songs last forever, it?s a whole lotta cheddar at the top now, fuck tryina climb up, let?s bring the top down

(Thanks to Butthole Surfers for these lyrics)