The Bottom

[Intro: Shyheim] Yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah, yeah It's Young God, Shyheim Yeah, Bottom Up Records, I'm CEO, nigga But it's still Wu-Tang, you heard? This goes out to all the political prisoners DLA, stay g'd up, what [Shyheim] Stay on top comrade, cuz the bottom is crowded The bottom is bout it, on the bottom it pops everybody wildin' On a mission wantin' the riches and the baddest bitches Ghetto chemists, gloves and masks in the kitchen Dope and cut mixing, the bottom, somebody's mother's addicted The bottom's black and hispanics in prison, the bottom's the unprivileged The top is the drop, the top is the yacht The top is this fly here, Cardier watch Another coffin with the body of my friend in it An untimely death, and I can't quite, comprehend it Whoever told you, being a thug is fun, lie Many nights in my cell, late at night I cried So ashamed of myself, from myself I tried to hide Thought the high would ease the pain, but it didn't I smelt the death in the airs, walkin' through the halls of Clinton God borns build to destroy, build to destroy borns God [Interlude: Shyheim] I wrote it for a pound in my palms Borns a bullet in your heart, motherfucker Shit, just listen, nigga I ain't askin' y'all niggas to dance I ain't askin' y'all niggas to sing along or nothing homey Listen to your boy, fool [Shyheim] Fuck the messenger, pay attention to the message About this oppression, after descretion, of the department of corrections I'm a felon in they crooked institutions, so I'm considered a slave According to the constitution, thirteenth amendment Officers try to discover your loved ones, when they come and visit And phone calls be ridiculous, three ninety nine for the first And nineteen cents, these additional minutes Behind these cold walls, these d'evils, be killin' people Like it's legal, tax payers, this is what your money goes to State prisons got bigger budgets than schools Keep 'em dumb and lock 'em up, warehouse, double bunk and stack 'em up White cracker, on the top of the roof, shot me dead for spreadin' the truth Will I go down in history like Malcolm, get me my own boulevard That my own black peoples, will go and sell crack on