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