These Walls Don't Lie

A-1-2, A-1-2 But you don't stop Then let the short shot Production: DJ Large And Promoe on the mic(on the mic, on the mic) For all my people(all my people, graffiti writers!) Goes a little something like this: It was the last days of summer Sun shinin' through the window Life movin' real slow You know how things go His friends knew him by the name of Bingo As he turned up the volume on the hot new single (Turn it up son!) From Looptroop his favourite rapgroup He loved how they represented him yo The graffyouth from the grassroots He came from Sweden too Felt proud when he played His new friends the latest tunes Check this shit out man That he had to download Cause his local recordstore Was on the other side of the globe They didn't carry the stuff But he felt it was okay to do He spread the Troop's message All the way to Australia, dude And man that couldn't be wrong When Long Arm and Freedom Fighters Were his fuckin' theme songs In the headphones those nights He spent when he stayed up Adrenaline Rush When he entered the lay up, singin... Bada papa papa... You know graffiti won't die, die No, it won't, aha Because these walls don't lie, lie (They don't lie) Come on I'm dedicatin' this piece, aha He said, to those DVSG's And stepped in with a grin and a boosted Kangol Mimicking the king With the ruler's manners Chorus: Fresh dressed In his newest shoes and flannels Then began lettin' on With the loosest cannons Figurin' this'll be my coolest panel But when they see it all they see Is just a gruesome scandal Erasin' all signs of life Callin the youth some vandals They can't handle the truth So this is how the truth is handled Deep into the music and his art Man, his true love Didn't even notice when the train pulled up Before the bloodstains faded On the engine cooler The very same train Hit another writer: Olaf On a different continental: Europe But then they came to the same place, That I'm sure of In this world people always Looked upon them as a terror But now 50 000 chariots singin' the chorus, going... Bada papa papa... (Aha, aha) Graffiti writers won't die, die, no (I'm telling you) Because these walls don't lie, lie, no (They don't lie) Come on I'm dedicatin' this song, song To those gone Your memory live on(live on) Bridge: I know a lot of people Including myself get uncomfortable When people including myself Get emotional But I gotta be true to myself And to most of y'all Man I still got love For graffiti culture though A lot of people including myself Get uncomfortable When people including myself Get emotional But I gotta be true to myself And to most of y'all Man I still got love For graffiti culture though A lot changed from The days of Spraycan stories See me in the yard today Lost like a freakin' tourist And I don't claim to know much All I really know is We were 17 once Actin' like we were immortals Fearin' no evil People said we had no morals That's fine, their corrupt world It really wasn't for us We just laughed at the bullshit names That they called us Hated us, we hated them And both sides found out what a war is We were winning in the beginning Then found out 'bout the horrors Don't get me wrong my lover Hundred percent, no less Peace to my people We grow with the knowledge I bite on death same time I'm playin' hardish to catch From South Africa Writers from New York Australia, Spain, France And Germany, up north Still the same rapper tellin' Cops to fuck off And all my writers: Survive! This my love song to y'all Bada papa papa... You know graffiti won't die, die, no Because these walls don't lie, lie, no To all my people world wide, wide, yo'