Where is my thief?
Where is the gangbanger
Where is the hype
Give me the whore
Who bleeds my bloodtype...
She called me to say
Ain’t no way she could associate with Punany
I can’t blame the unknowing
But even God doesn’t accept ignorance
I don’t know you like that, so I wonder
If a backstreet never knew your feet
A back seat; your ass?
When you can sweet talk
A shamed brotha into
spareing your tender body
From his victim recoil
Till he’s ready to release you
Then suddenly, like Jeckyl and Hyde
He has a change of heart
Pinning you, pissing in you, then kissing you....
Nurses the wounds
Of your ripped apart ass
And bleeding pussy ... pussing heart
But you still find a brand new start...
When you can find fresh air to breath
While society farts
Government cheese fueled gas
From it’s welfare ass in your face
And listen to the woman you thought was your mother
complain that she ain’t been paid enough to keep you...
When you can find sleep enough
To wake you for school though
Your crack baby sister screams all night
Or your crack head parents plans and
Dreams don’t come true for you
Cause there always missing in action...
When you can hold a would-be baby glob
Of blood in the palm of your hand
Without shedding a tear...
Here I stand; East Oakland Jezebel
Will tell them just how it T I S
Just how Punany bleeds
You will never silence me
The stones you throw
Will make holes in my soul
But believe blood will trail
Like soldiers through trenches
Streaming til they join the ranks of
Punany blood sisters in this battle field where
Sex and death face off in this war for life
Let the haters come, for victory will be won
Charging toward bullshit optimists
Two edged sward piercing names and social ID’s
Of infected lovers from her mouth
Tattooed with bed sores ripe as a decomposing ass
In the Middle Eastern desert war path
Yea, victory ain’t always a pretty thing
Death be fresh out of gospel hyms
To rock into your MIC
Jesus might can fix it, but some folk just ain’t wit it
They say you got believe it to receive it
Most folks just can’t conceive it
From where they sit in backstreets
Dangling off a needle; on sheets of motels
trying to pay their monthly bills
Or just loosing themselves in the concrete hell
Where Jesus’ footprints leave no trail
I say you got to receive it to believe it
So why fo’ you wanna save the saved?
I come to preach about sin to the righteous
Open the blind Hollywood eye
So the righteous may get
Up off the high horse and walk the road Jesus’
Died for.... this lowly one,
The one you cross the street to avoid
Them high falutin’ Christians
Donning Jesus like a ploy
A game to hide the shame of not being about
Your father’s business
Where your roots be?
In money, the evil green, OK?
Go head girl be stuck up in LA,
True backstreets are fucked up
Cast your stones while I’m hung up
on the Punany Cross
Where is my thief?
Where is the gangbanger
Where is the hype
Give me the whore .... Who bleeds my bloodtype
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