Texty:
With Dead Hands Rising The Black

thought for the ones who prey on the fallen victims. Lining streets with the flood of what remains from trials and tribulations. Bringing out the dead

keep rising From the ghetto, not always ghetto minded Some is striving, the finish line they never find it All of a sudden they life stops From black on black

game and the flow's so accurate Anything's possible, black, you mad profitable Waste no time, breath, air on popping you Put you on the guest list, go dance with death The club's dead

with I mean a quick buck, only got bad luck Black cash every black trash Never relax, never get attached to anything That's not gonna hand so life I

the world Three bodies lyin' there, does Patty see And another man named Bello movin' around mysteriously "I didn't do it," he says and he throws up his hands

the lies anymore Lord, help her rise just one more time if you can So still the children read to her till she opens up her hands When my body dies will

There's a road ahead 'Tween the live and dead Church bells are ringing Like the panic in my head Step, step, one by one Walk into the setting sun Water's rising, rising

in chamber, fill it with anger, paid all my Dues to triple the 6 Scanman might take your hand, slowly grab to the Pistol grip See crunchy black up in

cold That flames turn into the bluest frost Mountains of ice rises above a dead and a frozen ground The ravens return to the hills And the Millennium black