Parole Lyrics - The 3rd World - Immortal Technique & Dj Green Lantern

[Intro: Immortal Technique (parole officer)] 

(980505A) Yeah nigga what 

(You made parole) What? 

(Pack your stuff) The fuck? 

(And get the fuck out of here) A-haha 

Aiyyo man, it's about motherfuckin time man 

Aiyyo G, aiyyo G son, I got my papers man 

I'm out this motherfucker! 

[Immortal Technique] 

Yeah, I'm out of jail, and I'm never going back again 

Never selling heroin, never selling crack again 

Don't work for the government coke packagin 

Don't fire indiscriminate, with the mac again 

My people are stuck behind glass like a mannequin 

They pretend to give a fuck, just like the Vatican 

Second chance, faith based, two-faced Samaritans 

Every time we come back, they... [record rewinds] 

I'm out of jail, and I'm never going back again 

Never selling heroin, never selling crack again 

I'm out of jail, and I'm never going back again 

I'm out of, I'm out of (I'm out this motherfucker!) 

Yeah, I'm out of jail, and I'm never going back again 

Never selling heroin, never selling crack again 

Don't work for the government coke packagin 

Don't fire indiscriminate, with the mac again 

My people are stuck behind glass like a mannequin 

They pretend to give a fuck, just like the Vatican 

Second chance, faith based, two-faced Samaritans 

Every time we come back, they keep on cashin in 

Prison labor, third-world sweatshop comparisons 

'til we kidnap the whole fuckin garrison 

Yeah, poverty, makes people do, reckless things 

But corporations do worse to protect they bling 

Prisons are more, overcrowded than the rap game 

They say you more likely to go to jail with a black name 

Freakonomics that I speak through ebonics 

and fuck Phonics, little niggaz is (Hooked On) chronic 

But if you on stage with the DEA, as your hype man 

Don't get yourself locked up, and blame the white man 

We transformed gangs and criminal enterprises 

Usin O.G.'s as advisors 

Before they, send us to war, after they divide us 

But I won't let 'em use us like Teddy Roosevelt's Rough Riders 

My movement's like a jujitsu kata 

I graduated outta prison, so FUCK my alma mater nigga 

[Interlude: Immortal Technique (woman)] 

(Hello?) Yeah yeah, what's up yo? 

(Hey, how you doin?) Yo, you know what? 

I just got my papers (you're fuckin lying!) 

Yo I'm comin home to you, I'll see you in like a day and a half 

([screams] Oh my God, I'm so happy! Are you serious?) 

([screams] I'm so happy! Are you fuckin serious?) 

Yeah, I'm dead serious baby, I'm comin home (oh my God!) 

Put the little blue thing on for me, aight? 

(You got that baby, yeah!) 

[Immortal Technique] 

I'm on parole, and I'll never be alone again 

Fuck this place baby, I'm comin home again 

Shorty wrapped around me so I'll, never be cold again 

Never have to knock a nigga out, for the phone again 

Prison ain't the place that you find your rite of passage in 

It's slavery, with nasty food in your abdomen 

Middle passage, bottom of the ship, how they pack 'em in 

Perpetrators on some fake shit, sweeter than saccharin 

Jailhouse snitches without corroborating evidence 

Niggaz sellin niggaz out for true to be, Benjamins 

But now I'm free, hit the block, eatin Entenmann's 

Benihana in and out, flow to eat to enter in 

Newspaper pencillin, tryin to pay the rent again 

Ex-con job interview, nobody answerin 

Feelin violent from the frustation I got pent up in 

But not tryin to go back to the place, I was sent up in 

Turn my own life around, fuck the establishment 

Listenin to hip-hop like "Where the fuck the talent went?" 

How the fuck did you replace, lyrics with your swaggerin? 

I'ma fix that, rhymin on with the mag-a-num 

I roll up in a caravan, full of North Africans 

My squad got, more soldier niggaz than the Saracens 

Cause just watch (watch!) when the terrorists attack again 

Their reaction's gonna be draft 'em and send us back again 

[scratches] 

I'm on parole, and I'll never be alone again 

Fuck this place baby, I'm comin home again 

Shorty wrapped around me so I'll, never be cold again 

Never have to knock a nigga out, for the phone again 

Prison ain't the place that you find your rite of passage in 

It's slavery, with nasty food in your abdomen 

Middle passage, bottom of the ship, how they pack 'em in 

Perpetrators on some fake shit, sweeter than saccharin 

I'm on parole