lawd, help me out now we gotta get together we gotta organize no matter the weather it\'s a black sunday, hey..
[pharoahe monch] i used to watch my grandmother catch the holy ghost in church for her soul she would search five years later now i\'m off to work in a department store, i\'m foldin pants and shirts-ah at the end of the week-ah, lawd just enough loot to put some cheap sneakers on my feet that\'s when i made a promise to my momma i said "i betcha you see me at the apollo one day and i\'ma.. be kickin that fat funk shit; black, mackadocious -- speakers in the back trunk shit" cause the boss is boss and need is costing me to miss classes and i feel he spoke to me to be a jackass in the future; then, who\'s gonna shoot ya? at this point in my life is where i chose to write rhymes.. .. instead of doing crimes nineteen eighty-six to nineteen eighty-nine organized konfusion, did not, get, signed but we will soon one day, until then i return at twelve at noon on the track, black sunday
chorus:
lawd, help me out-ah we gotta get together we gotta organize no matter the weather it\'s a black sunday
[prince poetry] yeah, remember losing a loved one, lawwwd help us to make it over delete the pork cigarettes and forty-nine cent soda we came a long way and i\'m still runnin for my freedom still have one hundred miles to go, escape from the crack villllles, so, you can feed that baby i used to ride the elevator with the crazy lady i year later i made demo cassettes with the monch and?tastik? was on the fader, rhymes ran out quick so i encouraged monch to start writing rhymes and mrs. j cooked dinner then we came into same hard times sour contract shouldn\'t have been on the plate two apes escaped, back to l.a. with our demo tape the state of mind i was in since paul sea died is that i gotta get mines, representin 40 projects so i\'m all-in, gotta make papes and all that close my own record deal cause i can\'t fall for that old snake shit, hissin in the grass for the cash, little cents, intuition listen if you\'re missin my money, my fist you will be kissin dang... i don\'t even understand
chorus:
lord, help me out now we gotta get together we gotta organize no matter the weather it\'s a black sunday
outro:
check it out like to say whassup to my whole herd like to say rest in peace to my man?dilu? and rest in peace to my man juice three strikes
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