Wu-Tang Clan, Bronze Nazareth, Solomon Childs and Byata - Street Corner

Looking on various street corners
I'm sure you've seen it yourself
Standing on the corner is an alleged brother
Dressed in blue or green, red and black
And spouting the news that the revolution is coming
And you better get ready, sort of like
The end of the world is coming, unfortunately
The world is just going to drag on and on
And we have a poem that we've written particularly
For the brothers on the street corners

Yo, standing on porches in front of houses and corner stores
I'm born to more horrific than syphilis 'cause where we live is
Hell on Earth, where was Heaven when shit's real?
We sold dope to get meals while white folk in Smithfield
Fuck Israel, it's Kill Hills, spilt pills for my bill
Write wills for my seeds, to live from, take some
Give some, for brothers that was lynched hung, the symptoms
Never go away, a stow away from colder ways
Having ravenous savages, blasphemous asking us hold crosses
There's more of us than Florida oranges and lost orphans
I offer thought for food in full courses
I'm soaring toward the night glow, my hat's low, my roots grow
For you to soon know, I reap what you sow

We just land down from Liberia, young Black man
In control of the pillars, millions buried in dirt
How many railroads do you own? How much clean chrome you own?
This for my ancestors' names engraved in stone
On the roads where the rebels once roamed
We built homes, civilized our own
King Solomon Childs, beautiful as black this time
We will walk on water this time
We will see through the lies this time
Prepare troops to move in, expand the runways
Build bigger bridges, nine millimeters from Britain
We living in war, so prepare for submission
Apache helicopters, a black man's face on a dollar (word)
The pigs constantly watch us, the streets is obnoxious
Baby of the first nine, homie, I'm toxic

Through your eyes see Byata
The first seed of a dope fiend, she A.D.D
Needle parked off spring bourgeoise wannabe
While her siblings is rich living, she ain't bitching
Mama's working two jobs, tryna maintain a living
Few years passed, now she getting raised by the streets
Side by side, watchin' hustles, now she blazed like the streets
This is for my women living in the struggle
Getting brought into this world without asking for the troubles
Of the everyday life, life, a battered wife
Single mother's holding it down, while the world so trife
Crack fiend, you could of been something better in life
Now hold your head up, ma, you know it ain't over, right?
Yeah, this is for my Russians on the grind
Off the boat struggling, tryna hold a nine to five
Yeah, I seen enough with these eyes
I thank the Most High, I'm still alive

Written by:
Bronze Nazareth, Byata Dikker, Childs Solomon, R Wilson

Publisher:
Lyrics © Songtrust Ave

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