[J.T.S.]

See the strips of flesh left on the ground from the beasts rounds
of brutal firing squads of thugs shot down
So you can sit-down or act know it's two choices
my ear-drums ringing all i heard a few voices
i chose to act watching friends turn
to only learn that slaves burn
trading spirits for gold these niggas have no concerns
About elevation finding a false toughness from incarceration
Shut em down patient chest shots leave vests rocked
Hand skills took years some of the best boxed
Wins, and losses double-crossed us
not what you call luck when a over-rated contender is honored
with a weak crown and phony love emotionally cornered
he's looking for a building to jump-off he's slightly slaughtered
bothered by a truth he can't live knowing
so instead of therapy he dreams of going
so blind the coward
could care-less bout who he's leaving behind