Prison Riot

[Verse]
Automatic
100 shots towards the dogmatic all static
For the niggas that be thinkin' they could reform fascist
While we itchin' they be bitchin' about the wrong matters
Guerrilla War tactics
You either fight for the truth or you bitch about a truce
Momma ain’t raise no slouch
‘09 Gaddafi, yellin' “fuck yo couch!”
Pastel Blues in the South
No bootstraps but a boot in ya mouth
Book smarts never put food in the house
Yellin' with you crackas never got the bombs outta Afghan, Libya, Vietnam or Laos
Thirst for the blood leavin' homes in a drought
First sight of love was the death of a pig
Fuck with my cuz' 'cause he did what he did
If you ain’t with the shits then solidarity’s nothin' but a fib
Ayy, ayy, ayy
School of the virtuous, hurt whoever hurtin' you
If they throwin' dirt on you, bury 'em
Never let the propaganda flurry you
Unlearn till you’re re-learnable
Get to thinkin' “What would Kwame do?”
Promise they’ll be proud of you

[Chorus]
African, this ya callin' every challenge surmountable
African, this ya callin' every challenge surmountable
African, this ya callin' every challenge surmountable
African, this ya callin' every challenge surmountable
African, this ya callin' every challenge surmountable
African, this ya callin' every challenge surmountable

[Outro: Ella Baker]
I have had about forty or fifty years of struggle, ever since a little boy on the streets of Norfolk called me a nigga. I struck him back. And then I had to learn—I had to learn—I had to learn that, hitting back with my fists, one individual was not enough. It takes organization. It takes dedication. It takes the willingness to stand by and do what has to be done, when it has to be done!