NOW EVERYTHINGS GOOD IN MY HOOD AND ITS ON AND POP AND EAZY-MUTHAPHUKKIN-E FROM EAST SIDE SOUTH COMPTON STR8 GIVIN' UP THE REAL ON HOW A NIGGA FEEL TALK THAT SHIT MUTHAPHUKKAZ CAPS GET PEELED LAYIN' LOW IN THE CUT GETTIN HOW THAN A MUTHAPHUKA NIGGAZ KNOWS WHATS UP I'M THAT GANGSTA, GANGSTA IS THAT WHAT THERE STILL YELLIN' NIGGA G TO A T SAGGIN' AND BAILIN' LIVE BY THE GUN YOU KNOW WHAT I'M SAYIN' REN SO I GUESS I'LL DIE BY THAT MUTHAPHUKKA THEN SO WHEN I DIE NIGGAZ BURY ME MAKE SURE MY SHIT READS EAZY-MUTHAPHUKKIN-E AND IT'S A FACT TO BE EXACT MY TOMBSTONE SHOULD READ: HE PUT COMPTON ON THAT MAP AND THATS HOW A NIGGA FEEL WHEN I'M GIVIN' UP THA MUTHAPHUKKIN REAL
Eazy E F/ M.C. Ren
Hell, there're already too many psychologists; too many everythings. Too many engineers, too many chemists, too many doctors, too many dentists, too many sociologists. There aren't enough people who can actually do anything, really know how to make this world work. When you thing about it; when you look at the way it really is; God, we've got - well, let's say, there's 100 percent. Half of these are under eighteen or over sixty-five; that is not working. This leaves the middle fifty percent. Half of these are women; most are so busy having babies or taking care of kids, they're totally occupied. Some of them work, too, so let's say we're down to 30 percent. Ten percent are doctors or lawyers or sociologists or psychologists or dentists or businessmen or artists or writers, or schoolteachers, or priests, ministers, rabbis; none of there are actually producing anything, they're only servicing people. So now we're down to 20 percent. At least 2 or 3 percent are living on trusts or clipping coupons or are just rich. That leaves 17 percent. Seven percent of these are unemployed, mostly on purpose! So in the end we've got 10 percent producing all the food, constructing the houses, building and repairing all the roads, developing electricity, working in the mines, building cars, collecting garbage; all the dirty work, all the real work. Everybody's just looking for some gimmick so they don't have to actually do anything. And the worst part is, the ones who do the work get paid the least.
PURPOSE, ISN'T FOUND IN MY BROKEN HANDS OR MY SELFISHNESS. EVERYTHING THEY HAVE TOLD ME HAS BROKEN MY SPIRIT, AND IT HAS LEFT ME, WITHOUT A PLAN OR A PURPOSE FOR THIS LIFE THAT I AM MEANT TO LEAD. I'M A BROKEN MAN, I FIND NO PURPOSE IN THESE HANDS, I CAN'T BUILD ANYTHING FOR MYSELF. THEY HAVE LEFT ME, WITH NO GUIDELINE OR OUTLINE OF WHAT OR WHO I AM MEANT TO BE. EVERYTHINGS UNCLEAR, SO TELL ME WHAT, WHAT DO YOU EXPECT FROM ME? IM JUST A BROKEN MAN, GRIPPING TO LIFE WITH A BROKEN HAND. I WISH, I HAD THE STRENGTH TO LIVE A LIFE, A LIFE FREE OF REGRET. ALL THESE THOUGHTS RUNNING THROUGH MY HEAD, IN MY OWN STRENGTH, I THINK I'D JUST WIND UP DEAD. LEND ME A HELPING HAND, SOMEONE TEACH ME TO BE A BETTER MAN. IT'S LIKE I'VE HEARD IT ALL BEFORE.GIVE ME A REASON TO BREATH OR I WON'T BREATH AT ALL. LIVING THROUGH ALL THIS PAIN, LIVING AMONGST THIS HATE, I CANT BEAR ANOTHER DAY. WHAT COULD I DO, WHAT COULD I SAY, THAT COULD MAKE THIS PAIN GO AWAY, WHAT COULD I DO, WHAT COULD I SAY,I CANT BEAR ANOTHER DAY, AND IT'S EATING ME AWAY. I AM ALONE AND COLD, HOPELESS AND BROKEN AND WRETCHED WITH NO PLACE TO GO. I AM ALONE AND COLD, IN DESPERATE NEED OF A PURPOSE AND A CHANCE OF HOPE. I WISH, I HAD THE STRENGTH TO LIVE A LIFE, A LIFE, FULL OF HOPE. TO LIVE A LIFE, FREE OF REGRET. GIVE ME THE STRENGTH.
For All Eternity