[Killer Mike:]
Cops in the ghetto, they move like the Gestapo,
Drunk off their power and greed, they often hostile,
My little homie talked shit back, and they beat him bad,
That boy in the hospital now he's looking bad,
And I'm with his mom and dad, we looking sad,
My own mama called me, said, «Baby, I'm just glad
They ain't put they hands on my child and kill his ass,
Please, don't rap about that shit 'fore they murder your black ass.»
It's drones over Brooklyn, you blink you could get tooken,
And now you're understanding the definition of Crooklyn,
Pigs on parade, but bacon frying and cooking,
'Cause kids tired of dying and walking round like they shooken,
'Cause we smoke sour to deal with the paranoia
That they charge by the hour, can't hire the Jewish lawyer.
'Cause if you ain't Jigga or Puff, you doing time,
And even then, you might get ten, word to Shyne.
[Hook:]
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!
Do dope, fuck hope!
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!
Do dope, fuck hope!
[El-P:]
You don't wanna look into my big crystal balls, suck the future,
We'll moonwalk through flames with a brain on stupid,
Camouflage toughies'll touch your tufts roughly,
Fluff your flat permanent, lump you up ruthless,
Then laugh while you're humming the tune of bruised movements
That took a few too many tabs to prove lucid.
Everything compute? Nah, the truth is too tangled,
And even a satellite sees at one angle.
Burners radiate smoke 'til all's motionless,
Hope? Nah, ha-ha, slow down with the joking shit,
So inappropriate, right behind your ears is a what?
Look: ta-dah! The sound of your hopelessness.
I can feel it too, from the ground rising up in us,
Right above the clouds there's a shroud there to smother us,
Make a sane man walk around with a blunderbuss,
Peal another round, make a sound that is thunderous.
[Hook:]
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!
Do dope, fuck hope!
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!
Do dope, fuck hope!