Bulls On Parade

Bulls On Parade. This microphone explodes, shattering The molds. Ya either drops tha hits like like de la o or get tha Fuck off tha commode Wit tha sure shot, sure ta make tha Bodies drop Drop an don’t copy yo, don’t call this a co-opt Terror rains drenchin’, quenchin’ tha thirt of Tha power dons That five sided firt-a-gon Tha rotten sore on tha face of mother earth gets Bigger Tha triggers cold empty ya purse They rally round tha family With pokets full of shells Retour Weapons not food, not homes, not shoes, Not need, just feed tha war cannibal animal I walk tha corner to tha rubble that used to be a Library Line up to tha mind cemetery What we don’t know keeps tha contracts alive an Movin’ They don’t burn tha books they just remove ‘em Whil arms Warehouse fill as quick as tha cells Bulls on Parade (c)RATM 1997