Текст песни Times Have Changed - Will Tell, Brooklyn Academy

Times Have Changed

Times have changed\nAnd we’ve often rewound the clock\nSince the Puritans got the shock\nWhen they landed on Plymouth Rock\nTimes have changed\nTimes have changed\nTimes have changed\nTimes have changed\nI was Little Man\nTate with straight A’s, couldn’t wait for my payday\nStep-pops was tryna say I hate my old lady\nRan with the locals, broke rules in Brooklyn, looking\nTo lay vocals, selling coke, thinking I’m so cool\nCutting out of school and breaking night, puffing coolies and weed\nAnd taking flight. Two wrongs ain’t make me right, so my\nRhymes declined. Last line I had, I sniffed it\nMind was mad lifted, forgot that I was gifted\nCaught selling. Mom’s yelling made it hard to speak\nPops telling her I’m a villain, killing her ‘cause heart was weak\nPlayed boss, lays laws that I can’t obey\nFor the sake of my mom’s heart breaking, I ran away. Now I’m\nHomeless, roaming the streets in the rain and thunder\nIt’s like a jungle. Sometimes, it makes me wonder\nHow I survived rubbing shoulders with the undead. I dropped\nThe seat and put a roof over my son’s head (What?)\nTimes have changed\nTimes have changed\nTimes have changed\nTimes have changed\nYo, yo, yo\nSince the day Adam bit on the apple, the world fell victim\nTo the jackal. I hear voices of widows in the chapel\nWhile devils cackle and tackle my brain into chains, my crew\nAims for the fame, avoiding the flames. Nowadays\nWe stick away from these dope fiend dames\nHurting their veins with purple rain, turning insane with cracked\nTeeth ‘cause crack’s cheap on these crack streets\nSucking dick, deep in fat jeeps with the black seats\nActually, my mind cause words on rap sheets, I stack\nTreats thickly packed like Pamela Lee\nIt’s a world gone mad—call a psychiatrist. In my\nAbyss, you get greeted by iron flying fists, you get hit\nAnd wanna spit—try and you miss. Get back\nOn the boat, then I seen you cry on the ship\nIf I die, I die now, don’t wanna die when I’m rich. I pick\nThe plan to power, dividing my hits, high in the whip\nDrop by on your clique, slide in the clip with black\nTalon raps dying to rip. My mind is equipped\nWith all the latest technology, taking over like colonies\nPuffing botanies of collie weed is my policy\nHoly like the Dalai Lama. I got the shottie if\nYou wanna do my body drama, my aura is my body\nArmor. Rap scholars is like piranhas in these black\nWater harbors. Times have changed, fucker\nTimes have changed\nTimes have changed\nTimes have changed\nTimes have changed\nYo, yo, yo\nThis ghetto life changed me. Feeling like the white man hanged me\nWhere we die for the color printed on our hanky\nWhere we die right in front of our moms. I wrote\nA letter to The Pentagon, we’re getting it on\nIf that don’t work, then we gon' dead ‘em with bombs. I hold enough chromes\nTo disarm the president’s guards. I realize only\nThe wisest’ll rise. Me and you, son, we’ll fly to the skies\nFive of us hang-glide through Soviet lines\nEleven years old, ‘ready know the meaning of war. The beast\nWith seven heads walking with the feet of a horse\nDeep in my thoughts, paranoid, sleep with a cross\nKamikaze style, running out with meat from the stores\nIt’s iller than that. Too many people killing for crack\nThis ghetto life is trife—too many thoughts to spit on a track\nAnd it troubles my soul to live where we rumble with po\nIt ain’t our fault the walls of Babylon are crumbling slow\nAnd the prophecies known, foretold by the prophets of old\nAnd now, forever, we’ll shine like metropolis gold\nFuck an Illuminati. We’re out to body Rudolph Giuliani\nBut God forgave me ‘cause my murder done have proved divinely\nTimes have changed\nTimes have changed\nTimes have changed\nTimes have changed