| I gave hip-hop to white boys when nobody was looking |
| Found it locked in a basement when they gentrified Brooklyn |
| Left a list of instructions, MPC and a mic |
| My sci-fi library and utensils to write |
| Right or wrong, |
| I think hip-hop is where it belongs |
| Where it comes from one is but son, we wrote them songs |
| It was a ploy |
| Got fools tied up with mechanized toys |
| We are beings to breath, beyond the beings of boys |
| Now you can break all you wanna, |
| scratch all you wanna, |
| graff all you wanna, |
| laugh all you wanna |
| But I wanna show you what the stars are made of, |
| I wanna show you the stars |
| So substitute the anger and oppression with guilt and depression and it’s yours, |
| it’s yours |
| Substitute the anger and oppression with guilt and depression and it’s yours, |
| it’s yours |
| White boys listen to white boys, |
| Black boys listen to black boys, |
| No one listens to no one, |
| No one listens no no one |
| Alone on a mountan top, uprooted from the earth |
| Drifting beyond normalcy, a gold piece in God’s purse is |
| worthless here, we’re earthless here |
| God versus fear |
| Man versus fear |
| Fear not |
| I purse my lips and kiss like a glock |
| Violence is a metaphor for victory’s plot |
| Change is inevitable but our death is not |
| (Ha ha ha ha ha.) |
| Now you can break all you wanna, |
| scratch all you wanna, |
| graff all you wanna, |
| laugh all you wanna |
| But I wanna show you what the stars are made of, |
| I wanna show you the stars |
| So substitute the anger and oppression with guilt and depression and it’s yours, |
| it’s yours |
| Substitute the anger and oppression with guilt and depression and it’s yours |
| Grippo! |
| HEY! He-ey, he-ey, he-ey, everbody |
| HEY! He-ey, he-ey, he-ey |
| I wanna show you what the stars are made of, |
| I wanna show you what the stars are made of |
| I wanna show you what the stars are made of, |
| I wanna show you the stars |
| So substitute the anger and oppression with guilt and depression and it’s yours, |
| it’s yours |
| Substitute the anger and oppression with guilt and depression and it’s yours |