Scales

No justice, no peace
People fill the streets
Many of fine speech
When that died down, still you and the police
Murder by numbers, 1, 2, 3
Better have you a piece!
Better have you a college degree
Better move where it don’t be sweet
Never gon' be what you want it to be
It is what it is
Brutus slid the shiv between Julius' ribs
Two types of people in the world, kid, those who load the guns and those who dig
Rhetorical question: Can I live?
Found the place of your final resting
Dance the jig
Fiddle under my chin
Pirouette spin in a pair of Timbs
Heard em on the stairs, pulled the pin
Either which way they coming in, might as well go for the win
We all got it coming
Smooth her skirt, make sure her shirts buttoned
He said nothing
What would you say?
Never told her husband
Just sauteed the onions
A good man is hard to find
Fruit of the poison vine
Gin and tonic with the lime rind
Kept that balance
Another bottle of wine, accept that challenge
Use untruth to fill that silence
Kids in they rooms listening to nullified nihilists
Still stylish, ultraviolence
Credit to his race who gives credit to his stylist
Boss said «Any questions?»
I said «Where's Wallace?»
(«String, where the fuck is Wallace?»)
«Huh? String, where the fuck is Wallace?»
(«Huh? String. String. Look at me. Look at me! Where the fuck is Wallace? Huh?!
I don’t want this payless wearing motherfucking representing me.
I’mma get my own man. Alright? So just get back in your car and get the fuck
back down south.»
«Alright you stupid motherfucker. You made your decision.»)