At which point does vigilance become violence
And fear become racism,
How many stains are given
To white shirts on black kids 
They didn't do shit, but still you have to pursue it 
Like Suicide bombers and their kids,
11 years old with whole lives to live
What do they have to give?
In the fight that we're in
Never set up to win, just step up 
Much like the Mexican in the subway surrounded by officers
No vigilantes then, imagine eyes on posters 
Who cares about the homie probably not really pushing coke,
He looks like he doesn't have a home
So get some steel bars and stack stone 
Go grab a couple of his friends, too
You act like you're packing animals into a zoo 
Keep looking, there's still room 
Between all the Black men and Mexicans there's a corner for 10 more 
Lets build more 
De populate the streets to keep them clean of color 
No room for color, no room for color.