Immortal Technique Parole
Immortal Technique, (Parole Officer)
(980505A)
yea nigga what
(you made parole)
what?
(pack your stuff)
the f..ck?
(and get the f..ck out of here)
ayo man, its about motherfucking time man
ayo g, ayo g son, i got my papers man
I'm out this motherfucker
verse:
I'm out of jail and I'm never going back again
never selling heroine, never selling crack again
don't work for the government coke packaging
don't fire indiscriminate with the mack again
my people are stuck behind glass like a mannequin
they pretend to give a f..ck, just like the vatican
second chance faith based, two faced, samaritans
everytime we come back, they keep on cashing in
prison labor third world sweatshop comparisons
till we kidnap the whole f..cking garrison
(yea) poverty makes people do reckless things
but corporations do worse to protect their bling
prisons are more overcrowded than the rap game
they say you are more likely to go to jail with a black
name
freakonomics that I speak through ebonics
and f..ck phonics, little niggas is hooked on chronic
but if you on stage with the DEA as your hype man
don't get yourself locked up and blame the white man
with transformed gangs and criminal enterprises
using OGs as advisors
before they send us to war after they divide us
but I won't let them use us like Teddy Roosevelt's
Rough Riders
my movement is like a jujitsu kata
i graduated outta prison, so f..ck my alma mater, nigga
chorus (caller)
(hello)
yea yea whats up yo
(inaudible)
yo you know what I just got my papers
(goodbye)
yo I'm coming home to you I'll see you in like a day
and a half
(inaudible)
yea I'm dead serious baby, I'm coming home
put the little blue thing on for me aight
I'm on parole and I'll never be alone again
f..ck this place baby, I'm coming home again
shorty wrapped around me, so I'll never be cold again
never have to knock a nigga out for the phone again
prison ain't the place that you find your right of
passage in
it's slavery with nasty food in your abdomen
middle passage bottom of the ship, how they pack em in
perpetrators on some fake shit, sweeter than saccharin
jailhouse snitches without corroborating evidence
niggas selling niggas out for two to three benjamins
but now I'm free, hit the block eating Entenmann's
beni-hana in and out, flow for me to enter in
newspaper penciling, trying to pay the rent again
ex-con job interview nobody answering
feeling violent from the frustration I got pent up in
but not trying to go back to the place I was centering
turn my own life around, f..ck the establishment
listening to hip hop, like where the f..ck the talent
went
how the f..ck did you replace lyrics with your
swaggering
Ima fix that rhyming on with the magnum
I roll up in a caravan, full of North Africans
my squad got more soldier niggas than the Saracens
you just watch, when the terrorists attack again
their reaction is gonna be draft em and send us back
again
I'm on parole and I'll never be alone again
f..ck this place baby, I'm coming home again
shorty wrapped around me, so I'll never be cold again
never have to knock a nigga out for the phone again
prison ain't the place that you find your right of
passage in
it's slavery with nasty food in your abdomen
middle passage bottom of the ship, how they pack em in
perpetrators on some fake shit, sweeter than saccharin
I'm on parole
