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The Future
by Science O.C.N.

I say the future is ours
I say the future is ours
The problem in the past has been the man turning us against one another

Talk to ‘em

Ayo shorty, do me a favor, man
Go to the store for me
Get me some white shoe strings
I’ma clean your teeth with them shits (Hahahaha)

Fuck is on yo’ mind, nigga?

Rectangle rhyme, circle out the squares
I was playing beer-pong
Circle out the beers
Niggas drinkin’ bitch drinks
They should have brassieres
Still swing with machete
That's long as Paul Pierce
Let’s talk about it, South side, cracks by the sewer
Hustle with my uncle, one- oh- seven got bruised (that was Queens)
New Mazarati, fox before a shooter
I ran with E-Money Bags, and rest in peace Judah
They say the good die young
I must be old as fuck (why not)
Virgin stash, workin’ that pussy and they open up
Hand to hand fights, it was up in the air
Niggas bigger than me, but the gun made it fair
Allah U Akbar, Inshallah you gonna lose
Degrees and lessons, we need it, we gon' prove
[???] your apparatus
Need new mathematics
Or I’ma grab the automatics
So many gang-related in my city I don’t recognize it
Where the gods at (we right here) We supposed to civilize it
Bring it back to the universe of beat downs and rebounds
Concrete street sound
Shootin’ by C-town
Nowadays these new dudes is tampons
The type to hustle right in front they man’s moms (aw man)
Where’s the respect, where’s the morals? (it’s gone)
So I’ma send shots in plurals
(I say the future is ours)

Oh, oh
Civilize ‘em
Understanding’s the best part
Yo, this shit right here man
This the type of shit I live for, man
Word
I breathe this shit
What you breathe man?

Yeah, yeah
These are rhymes off the Richter
Kiam, Percy and Victor
Armored up the Schweitzer
Quick to crack your head like glass at a bar Mitzvah
Astaughallah, mister
Niggas is eatin’ swine, trying to quote the god’s scripture
(What am I) Sharp shooter like Kenny Ito
While you twenty- five-gram-ass niggas is talkin’ kilo (kilo)
Dump you in the river, see if you find Nemo
The pub was the shit 'til Cyrus done shot Chico
The revolution got to be televised in high definition
Master chef in the kitchen (whip it)
Bring it on back, ain’t nothin’ less than addition
Rub me the wrong way, you feel the spark for the friction
While these niggas was in the playpen
I was in the state pen
Sippin’ hooch, the proof called
Called for an eight- ten
But my lawyer was so good
I came home in three to the latest Benz
That was in ninety nine, all being born-to-born
I ain’t gotta say that it’s on
These are chess moves, a king never play with a pawn
Right before the sunshine, make way for the storm
Yo

The problem in the past
Has been the man turning us against each other
Nothing would move without us allowing it to happen
Nothing would move without us allowing it to happen
I say the future is ours

Lyrics © OBO APRA/AMCOS

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