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letra de change gon’ come - the mic and the music

the mic and the music – “change gon’ come”
[emcee(s): breez evahflowin’]
[producer/guitar: eric krasno]

[verse 1: breez evahflowin’]
yo, i wasn’t
born. i was manifested by demand of the
flesh and gentle caresses
and conman erections. i imagine
my pops was like “i’ma be there” until he drops
pop was a rolling rock, so i rock and
roll on some old “evahflow don’t stop.” i’ll go
box with the rhythm, throw jabs at the guitar
beat hit hard. mixed the hook with the stiff-arm
bob-and-weaving all the nonbelieving
keep moving, show-proving, all the while achieving
all around the demons, snakes, k!llers, and crooks
wide-awake, still dreaming, sit, fill up a book with this
view from a bottomless pit so dark
and cold, at times, i’ll be like, “why i exist?”
and to answer that, light up a spliff, sit with the rhythm and
meditate on the vision i’ll recite with my lips. i got
a gallery of sh-t on display—tag priceless
a sav’ when i grab mics and stab niceness
take a shot at excellence, a swing at
authority, take lead like an old-school king and his
army, live in the days of coward presidents
high off the firepower, and twin towers are evidence
them pollute the elements. revolution imminent
if your views are limited, i’m still gon’ get you into it

[hook: breez evahflowin’]
and i work, but i got no pay. i steal, but i
got no choice. i vote, but i got no
say. i yell, but i got no voice
systematic degradation
and even if it ain’t on your mind
it’s real and it’s right on the line. i’m saying, son
change gon’ come

[verse 2: breez evahflowin’]
yo, and if
it don’t come, will i be rapping or will i be packing?
up the fam with plans for open land and
run with nothing but food cans and guns
on that day, trust for a man is none
watch the knife, dawg—it could be your homie or son
do you like the highlander—”there can only be one”—with no
reservation. is that self-hate or preservation?
some of the thought—let’s get lost within these observations
patience/patients like you lie on the sheet
off beats, the gun bust, then they lie on the streets
stand strong like a man, dawg, die on your feet
like the third world brothers who be dying to eat
come on. who really can hang? who gon’ tell me
at ten, they was men, they was ready to bang?
n-ggas acting like new york city is hard
and they ain’t seen city of god. american
money style how we act so wild. i’ll be
happy, but the beat told me, “crack no smile.” it gets
wilder than the movie, brothers. outsiders
at work, al-qaeda alerts, and fruity colors
sometimes, i think this sh-t’s about to go off, then
i think like, “they’re shaking us up because we’re soft”
spread thought in a climate where people prefer the liars
keep the speeches long-term like the teachings of jeremiah

- the mic and the music

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