Intro:

This goes out to all my young brothers and sisters

Hold ya head, things ain't always what they seem

I'm about to give you a dose of reality

Real deal



(Jeru The Damaja)

Nowaways, records are played and superstars are made

Still mothers in the ghetto, rent dont get payed

As a result, bullets are sprayed and their sons are laid

It's no myth, in ghetto life, if you don't fight you fade

Surviving in the streets, not a task for ordinary men

Growing up in the hood, young black and supahuman

Caught up in the game of blocks and cops run your block

Intercourse with witches and hunted by warlocks

For props, boos-hoot pop, another brother drops

He barely knew his pops,

now his little seed will barely know his pops

Tunnel vision like a cyclops

I give you x-ray vision with these supahuman eyedrops

My niggas in the ghetto, give it everything you got

Cuz until we reach the top, can't stop and won't stop



Chorus 2X:

Can you feel?

The presha, the the the presha

Hand over

The presha, the the the presha



(Jeru The Damaja)

Journalists write articles cuz they can't write rhymes

Ever since I was a youth I dealt in crime

Now I'm trying to reach the youth, to preserve what's left

There's a fork in the road, choose life or death

There's too much stress, too many bullets for your vest

Temptress, suck ya best, exotic strains of syphillis

The rest, rest in the Earth, only the best progress

It's you who think I see commercial success

Warning, this shit is real, this is not a test

And what I express worth more than a Lexus

Serve it like baby food, still hard to digest

Long ass niggas is mental slaves, I gotta protest



Chorus 2X



(Jeru The Damaja)

Baby in the crib, and dad got no loot for food

So he do what he got to do

Keep it real, I don't playa hate ya

God my divine nature,

sent at this time to stabilize the structure

We should all live like wise kings,

now sing praise to the gutter

The blazed double X, concelead like a box cutter

Brothers should be teaching, not murdering one another

Word, to the mother land, kill the other man

Lord of the concrete jungle, and Tarzan was a black man

Swingin on vines vibin, been balancin the eco system

And since there's no more niggas in the ghetto, here I am



Chorus 4X

(you got to deal with*instead of hand over)



Meanwhile, back at Supahuman Klik Headquarters...