I feel the funk blast I be walking cold like a dog My narrative, fearless One boy would talk the world like I went home from Paris Like steel from a furnace, I was born landless This is the native song, born on some mother's lawn Struggle in cities and the cities remain Same bodies, very hungry, but with different last names And vultures robbing everything, leave nothing but chains You pick a point on the globe, if the picture's the same There's a bank, there's a church, a myth and a hoax I'm all in a lull, a child and a bug There's a widow, king, tyrant, a rebel, the tame A white-hooded judge, a syringe and a vein And a rally to the rhyme of the unheard What'd ya say, what'd ya say, what'd ya say, what? What'd ya say, what'd ya say, what'd ya say, what? What'd ya say, what'd ya say, what'd ya say, what? What'd ya say, what'd ya say, what'd ya say, what? I come like a bug I come like a bug I come like a bug This ain't subliminal Feel the critical mass approach a-risin' Most of the condemned souls from Africa's demisin' And even in the Rakshaka, yes, I stand firm Hope lies in the spoon in the breath of the vampires Yes, speckled with sedgies in the city's remains Same bodies, very hungry, with different last names And vultures robbin' everyone and nothin' but chains You know, boy, here at home, yes, the picture's the same There's a field full of slaves, some caught in some debt There's a ditch full of bodies, the check for the rent There's a tap, the phone, the silence of stone But no black screen, I be feelin' like home A riot, the arrival of the unheard What'd ya say, what'd ya say, what'd ya say, what? What'd ya say, what'd ya say, what'd ya say, what? What'd ya say, what'd ya say, what'd ya say, what? What'd ya say, what'd ya say, what'd ya say, what? I come like a bug I come like a bug I come like a bug I come like a bug I come like a bug I come like a bug I come like a bug I come like a bug I come like a bug I come like a bug I come like a bug I'm a moose, a prisoner, a feral There's a country soul that weeds and hosts no barrels There's a strike and a line of cops outside of the mill There's a right to obey and a right to kill There's a mass without roots, there's a prison to fill There's a country soul that weeds, hosts no bills There's a strike and a line of cops outside of the mill There's a right to obey and there's a right to kill