letra de tales from the darkside (remix) - ice cube
verse one: ice cube
peace – don’t make me laugh!
all i hear is motherf-ckers rappin sucotash
livin large, tellin me to get out the gang
i’m a n-gg-, gotta live by the trigger
how the f-ck do you figure?
that i can say peace and the gunshots will cease?!
every cop killer goes ignored
they just send another n-gg- to the morgue
a point scored- they could give a f-ck 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 n-gg-s neck
’cause i’m the one with the trunk of funk
and ‘f-ck 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-ck with them overseas
my homeboy died over a key of cocaine
it was plain and simple
the 9mm went to the temple
was the sound i put the b-tch down
and ran to the schoolyard bathroom
looked in the trash can yo it had room
so i ducked my -ss in it for a minute
covered with trash i had to lay back
mad as f-ck, 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-ckers
i told you last alb-m
when i got a sawed off, bodies are hauled off
its a shame, that n-gg-s die young
but to the light side it don’t matter none
it’ll be a drive by homicide
but to me it’s 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 n-gg-
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-ck are they foolin?
n-body knows, but i suppose the color of my clothes
matches the color of the one on my face
as they wonder what’s under my waist
[standin on the verge] of them gettin brown
that’s a fact got a fear on their bozack
run, run, run, their -ss off, they can not hide
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