Out On Parole Lyrics

Immortal Technique
The 3rd World
Out On Parole
980505A, Yeah nigga what?
You made parole. Pack your stuff, (the fuck) and get the fuck outa here.
Ay yo man, It's about motherfucking time man,
Ay yo G, Ay yo G son, I got my papers man, I'm out this motherfucker.
I'm outa jail, and i'm never going back again,
never selling heroin, never selling crack again,
Don't work for the government, coke packaging.
Don't fire fire indesciribent with the mac again.
My people are stuck behind glass like a mannequin.
They pretend to give a fuck, just like the Vatican.
Second chance, fate based, new face Samaritans.
Every time we come back, they keep on cashing in.
Prisons labor, third world slave shock comparisons.
Till we kidnapped the whole fucking garison.
Yeah, poverty makes people to wreckless things,
but corporations do worse to protect their bling.
Prisons are more over crowded than the rap game,
they say your more likely to go to jail with a black name.
Freakonomics that i speak to be bonics are fuck cronics.
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Little niggers is hooked on cronik, nigga.
but if you on stage with the D.E.A as your hype man,
don't get yourself locked up and blame the white man.
We transform gangs and criminal enterprises,
using O-G's as advisers, before they send us to war,
after they divide us.
But i wont let them use us like teddy rosers ruff ryders.
My movements like a fujitsu kada,
I graduated outa prison,
so fuck my album motto.

Im on parole, and i never be alone again,
fuck this place baby, im coming home again.
Family wrapped around me, so i never be cold again.
Never have to knock a nigga out again, for the phone again.
Prison aint the place where you find the right of passage in,
and it slavery with nasty food in your abdomen.
Middle passage, bottom of the ship, how they pack em in.
Perpertrators on some fake shit, needed the sackering.
Jail house niggas

Immortal Technique
The 3rd World
Out On Parole