Thievery Corporation, Racquel Jones - Letter to the Editor lyrics

Letter to the Editor pocket full a promises
Baby empty bellies poverty and Democracies
And political rallies
But who the rich a lobby for
Using me for votes
Pretend a mi yuh sorry for
Then win and it's a joke
I'm sick of trick or treaters in
Costumes like dem as leaders
Charismatic public speakers
False prophets and fake healers
Articulate perfect grammar scammer
Scamming us for votes
Infront of tv camera with
An innocent approach
Nuh mo lies and fallacies bun apologies
Try nuh ask please
When a squeeze and yuh pan yuh knees
Justice or else says the minister Farakhan
Suh me stand up a Gordon house
Wid my Glock Inna me hand
If I take it literally
Fuck it geez I'm kinda sorry
But smaddy need Fi answer
Gimmi Di microphone and Mek mi
Rep di innocent paying
Recompense for money spent to
Feed the governments
Yo! Gimmi Di microphone get the
People riled up too much
Fuckery Piled up get di ting dem oiled up
Parallel universes in the same Ol' hemisphere
Authorities they don't care with dem
Nose up in the air

Cause our bombs dem metaphoric
We talk Di truth and mek Di
Youths dem better for it
Cause, I'm a fighter, yeah
If you agree put up yuh lighter, yeah

Mek the stench from ghetto fences
Permeate dem residences extend up
Through the trenches up to
Where the presidents is
Karma pan Di ones and twos
Yes it turn the tables
Had enough a you with your parable and fables
Jamaican bad gal queen and revolutionary
Neva quick Fi start a war
But shoot whenever necessary
Product of the inner city
Where me come from it nuh pretty
Survive the nitty gritty
Ain't nobody taking pity
Survival kinda sticky
In New York Cali and philly
A di same ting a gwaan in a Kingston

Cause our bombs dem metaphoric
We talk Di truth and mek Di
Youths dem better for it
Cause, I'm a fighter, yeah
If you agree put up yuh lighter, yeah

These are the da days of the last days
Pan the last page of Di book of the dark age
We a path ways wid oppressors
Seek Predecessors wake up ancestors
Den we team up together
We will meet we will meet pan
Di battle Di battle ground
Trade mi microphone
For a shottie and some copper stones
Just be ready When Di gavel sound
Bun a folly ground fus jah surround us
So We never nervous
Was a mental war now this shit turn physical
From long time scar we a reap the residual
From slavery to now
Now the ting get critical
Dem CyAh kill we soul cause
Dem sight sey we spiritual
So They be like, hey
Prod the bull under Sykes as subliminal
Get them mad then chastise dem as criminal
Give wi drugs under guise sey it clinical