Překlad: Paris. Street voják.
black man or another fool? Cause I'm comin full grown, and bitch you can take that wannabe G (shit) back home Understand that it's on, like I told ya Foolin with a street soldier
s one for the money two for the fuckin' show, ready get set, let's go Here comes the buckin' bronco Stompin' and stampedin' up the damn street like them buffalo Soldiers
one of the 42 million black people who are the victims of America [Paris] Aiyyo we all in together now, all in together now Hard truth soldierin, hard truth soldier
Chuck D: x4 repeat in the background] Raw shit, hardcore hip-hop hits [Paris] Yes, live, real rap's back again You in tune to the real, Hard Truth Soldier
x2: Paris] What they say, You ain't nothin' but a soldier, yeah Straight Hard Truth Soldier Believe, You ain't nothin' but a soldier, yeah Straight Hard Truth Soldier [Verse 4: Paris
[Paris] Take it back to the days when we raised us up 'Fore coward-ass rap made the game corrupt P-Dog in the cut back to bring the pain Puttin wood on
day I watch it, and listen, and call 'em all suckas' They warnin' me about Osama or whatever Picture me buyin' this scam I said "never" You in tune to a Hard Truth soldier
soldiers, hangin in halls gettin over City niggaz who for blood money rockin Rovers Stay dipped, don't have no money in your pocket In the streets while
beastie Cause on the street they do as we influenced by what we see And yes it "Weighs a Ton" I say it once again That's why the Enemy is down with Paris
high In the streets or in the store Know a couple dollars won't get you by Truth is a Paris Hilton jail cover story Could never flop For that sexy mug
war's soldiers, hangin' in halls gettin' over City niggaz who for blood money rockin' Rovers Stay dipped, don't have no money in your pocket In the streets
billion The God's tropical Ladies call me black fruit punch Rainbow, flavored niggas murder niggas for lunch Peace to the Paris crew in the avenue, and
We carry bangers and air you out like airplane hangers I rock 5 star general status, projects to Paris At the Hilton stickin foreign objects in Paris
you high In the streets or in the store, know a couple dollars wont get you by Truth is a Paris Hilton jail cover story could never flop For that sexy
deaths, but a soldier dies once, incarcerated, menatatin like a monk, wit visions of prisons, for livin life do or die on the street, man doubtin
the money two for the fuckin show Ready get set, let's go Here comes the bucking bronco stompin and stampedin up the damn street Like them buffalo soldiers
whole lotta soldiers down to ride with me But lord please give me something to hold on to, Something to hold I need something to hold As I scratch the last days of the calendar Niggas roam the streets
