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the reavers - slums (dirty) كلمات الأغنية

the reavers (ft. akir, priviledge, goldenchild, billy woods, and vordul mega) – “slums”
[produced by goldenchild]

[verse 1: akir]
yo, cops and robbers, fires and gunshots
run through these slum blocks. call me sir hancelot
handle sh-t and dismantle, ak’ scrambling just to beat the clock
stashing it just to feed my sock, rationing with my people
p-ssionate about my pantry stock. i’m trying to get it
while the getting’s good. it’s understood that, in my hood, it’s going tough
way before it should, tough guys end up with snuffed fires
not doing what they could, dodging out of dakota
‘cause they no longer fill their quota. i’ll make my money turning shoulders
flipping out motorolas, color like crayola
while my aim or game is for payola. catch me running down
fire escapes. feel the backdraft, throw the coat
up around my waist. here’s the crowbar to just
open your safe. walk like shaft: cool and fast
n-gga, don’t lose the path. this is the realm. i’ll plan to last
and if it’s necessary, throw the mask and start blasting
darts of an -ss-ssin

[hook: goldenchild and priviledge]
[priviledge]
-ss-ssinating n-ggas. had to be the atrophy
new world catastrophe, n-ggas screaming, (“ooh yeah”)
when the cops come, son, ‘cause we not phased
how you gonna catch the rat in his own maze?
[goldenchild]
ayyo, what you gonna do when the guns go blao?
bodies up in the crowd, n-ggas screaming, (“ooh yeah”)
we living without a meaning. on corners, n-ggas is fiending
steady clocking demons up in their s-m-n

[verse 2: priviledge]
ayyo, as heads are supersonic, flowing like colonics
hyperbolic syllabic cess, we de la mystic
cousin, you would hate to miss it. sudan how i kick it
says, “d, i’ll be blowing trees in the mezzanine” prophesized felestin
point the blue stream on the wall. if it all
i’m not good, change the channel. learnt your values
at crate & barrel with the arrest of the red states
s-xual head games get locked in the vestibule
deacon prize: d-ck, fuel. veiled society
black cloaks, ceremonial smoke runs
generations deep. we venerable foes in the streets
‘cross the country, it’s real. hungry folks
anywhere’ll get you for a meal—philly to turkmenistan
man, i’ve been on it like rpg fire
‘cross the gaza strip morning

[interlude 1: priviledge]
and that’s real (you nah’mean?). come on, dawg. still…

[verse 3: goldenchild]
turn the page
see your man on the mic rock the crowds
‘cause we do what we like, hold it down
and never run ‘cause we fight for the soul
and the words to be right, hoping those
understand our plight. underground, terror firma be light
backwoodz, if you got ‘em, we like
retro spirits through the sparks of the night. speak true
sh-t at you ‘cause it’s right. drop jewels, never confuse
we keeping it tight. uh, uh

[bridge 1: goldenchild]
we keep you rocking and you moving (and you moving)
we’re in a war and we are losing (we’re losing)
and everybody is amusing (amusing)
we’re caught up in lies and we are losing (we’re losing)

[verse 4: billy woods]
i came to smoke
the fixes in, even though i weren’t broke
quick to grin, not off that dope
without a syringe and she deepthroat
once the bottle spin, me and her mighty low
hollow men swallow dope and lay god
seeking hope in chaos. apollo’s hungry
man of war—morning’s door
daisy cutters blasting cars. follow the money
fat man in the land of the starving
begging your pardon, mr. president, for life
but the sarge and majors plotting at night
razor edge on the knife. they want your spot
beware the ides of march. we want rice
cars with spare parts and tripe in a pot
like it or not, anywhere outside the
capital is hot. better gas up the jets
terrorists tiptoeing with threats. place your bets
five cigarettes says revolution won’t
change sh-t (f-ck you thought?)

[bridge 2: goldenchild]
and this is why i make our music
because it’s real, i know you feel it
and this is why we make our music (terror firma)
for this reason, it’s very therapeutic

[verse 5: vordul mega]
rage against time, moving in lines
trying to get cheddar writing these letters
hoping things’ll get better
as we strike a piety of vendettas
suffering from poverty in a man’s checking
giving lectures lacking mercy
they’re trying to chop our heads off, so we stay thirsty
popping, we clever with thoughts that’ll sever
the limbs of a ill society. we doves
get by on trees and we love being heat
under, believing in each other, surviving
knowing we each scuff amongst beasts
live with a street hunger, feed the lung with
purified air and herbs, living truth
through these words. times hard when you need money
in the eye of a storm, see thunder
and electrify souls. terror firma

- the reavers

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