Resurrection ’95 (Nice & Easy RMX)

The Deity Complex ft. Common Sense - “Resurrection ‘95 (Nice & Easy RMX)”
[Emcee(s): Common Sense]
[Producer(s): Supreme Scientist 7 (of The Deity Complex)]

[Intro: Sample from Love Unlimited - “Oh Love, Well We Finally Made It”]
We’ve only just begun to feel the fire grow
Our light of love will burn and let the people know
That we intend to make it
When trouble comes, we’ll shake it
My love for you, can no one take it
Oh, I’ve just got to say it

[Interlude 1: Common Sense]
Yeah, I’ma get this one off for 87th Street, South Side of Chicago. Chicago everywhere. Check it, check it, check it

[Bridge: Common Sense]
Come on, y’all. Get live, get down
Common Sense is in your town

[Verse 1: Common Sense]
I stagger in the gathering possessed by a pattering
That be scattering over the global
My vocals be traveling, unraveling my abdomen
It’s slime that’s babbling grammatics that are masculine
I grab them in, verbally badgering broads
I wish that Madelyne was back on Video LP
Raps I make up like blacks do excuses
I feel like Noah, hooking my mellows up on deuces
If a broad ain’t got a mind, a job or crib, she useless
Acoustic basslines embrace rhymes while I chase mines
They say signs of the end is near. I wonder
“Can I walk a righteous path holding a beer?”
Got more verses than a Kramer, go off like a pager
Skills uglier than Craig Mack “In Ya Ear,” I’m the “Flava”
My old bird said some of my songs sound like noise
Don’t watch the Bulls as much—(why?)—they got too many white boys
A million black men walking towards one direction
For sure, the cream of the planets
Resurrection

[Verse 2: Common Sense]
A prophet raised amongst Black Disciples
And Vice Lords who don’t give a fuck about mic cords
At night, swords get up. Together, black wrists get cuffed
I’m wishing for a change, but my man want his change in a cup
Yes Sir, I’m in the Mix-a-Lot
Bitches put ‘em on the glass while I’m putting stickers on their ass
I rule everything around me like cash
On the rocks of reality, dreams get splashed. In jams
I M*A*S*H like Alan Alda. Niggas nod
Thangs say, “Hey,” as if I was Little Walter
87 strip-walker, taught the code of the area
By staying within the barrier. Exposed to
Stony stimuli—with that, I identify
Brothers went through my rotate, solidify the realness
Skull caps, Smurfs, Puffy jacket, Lugz boots on
Stepping to me is like going to the County being a neutron

[Verse 3: Common Sense]
I ride
The rhythm like a Schwinn bike when in dim light, I use
Insight to enlight, then write something that’s skin-tight
Words of wisdom well from my windpipe, imagination’s
In flight, I send light—like Ben’s kite, I’ve been bright
Get open like on gym nights. In fights, I send rights
Don’t hook with skins my friends like, I spend nights up in dykes
I’ve been indicted as a freak of all trades
“Doodoo-Doo-Doo, Doo-Doo,” I got it made
I bathe in basslines, rinse in riffs, dry in drums
Come from a tribe of bums hooked on Negro and mums. Had
To halt with the malt liquor ‘cause off the malt
Liquor, I fought niggas. Now my speech and thoughts quicker
Cruising South Side streets with no heat and no sticker
UAC got my back, and we don’t get no thicker
87 got my back and we don’t get no thicker
Chicago got my back and we don’t… now check it
I’m a ho but not a ho nigga, ain’t scared of no nigga
When it’s my turn to go I gotta go, and I’m gone with the
Storm…