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Well it's 1997, just about a quarter past eleven |
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Nobody sits at home cause the rocks about to roll |
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The Citgo sign with it's neon fire is fryin' all the suits |
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While they're snortin' business up their nose, we're scuffin up our boots |
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The downtown beat pours onto the street of the ground level |
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Skeleton nation, but the high brow cannot hear it cause they ain't turned into the station |
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All the common kids down on |
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Comm. Ave have quite a lot to say |
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But there ain't an ear to listen 'cause their turn is so far away |
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Another kid with a broken heart |
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An old beat up six string guitar |
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Last train stop better get off |
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At the end of an era |
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Ghetto blast goes 1-2-3-4 |
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If you're sick of being poor |
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And the rebel beat beats on |
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At the end of an era |
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The elder ghosts are in the square |
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As johnny fresh cut chops off his hair |
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Butchy's black dreads flow all over town |
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As black souls jive to the reggae sound |
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When black and white dance together all night |
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It ain't gonna make the papers |
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When red blood fell from black and white lips |
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They pinned it ghetto hatred |
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The Mission |
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Hill kids have got a mission |
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It's called stayin' alive |
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Its the calm before the storm |
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In an ethnic jail tonight |
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All right ready to prowl? |
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Hey I seen it man |
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They come from every walk of life |
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From every edge of town |
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They got gasoline in their veins |
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Best walk on the other side of the street man |
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They got venom eyes |
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The Mission |
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Hill kids, the |
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Savin Hill pack |
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The Cambridge campers, the |
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Sommerville house |
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The Charlestown town boys, suburban youth |
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They're idlin' high |
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They're blendin' in with the bricks |
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I know you seen us before |
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I've seen you ignore us |
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But we don't forget a face man |
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And we don't soon forgive... |
