Funky box and deadly beats
we got too many gangs around the streets
we got sunshine and deadly heat
we got free-roamin’ kids singin’ trick or treat
we got bad boys and poisoned rats
we got too many rappers with baseball bats
we got old records and hot cassettes
we got a charity service for the living dead
we got a fine line and a deadly plot
we got half-dead bodies in a parking lot
we got strange eyes and hungry hearts
and a cloud full of flies and a coal black art
got sold out long ago
but the crowd keeps pushin’ to the overload
we got skyscrapers in the slums
we got the filthy rich and the beggin’ ones

The sun goes down, the streets are black
and I can’t hide this thought I have
something strange is goin’ round
yeah I can feel [bad word] 
Radios on repeat
got a bollywood blues and a bhangra beat
we got local trains overflowing
got a government dog busy whistle blowing
got pipedreams and broken thoughts
caus’ she likes it cool and he likes it hot
got traffic jams and holy cows
got lovers on the street chasin’ the sundown
we got rattle snakes and monkey biz
we got dark black boroughs in a cold abyss
we got poets killin’ crazy rhymes
on chairs on streets tryin’ to make a dime
got hand-me-down boys and whores
this grace is a bit of a dinosaur
we got heavy rain and a dusty wind
it’s been a while but I’m still not used to the spin

The sun goes down, the streets are black
and I can’t hide this thought I have
something strange is goin’ round
yeah I can feel [bad word]