Chuggo - The People Are Shit Ft. Immortal Technique (Verse) [2005]

Chuggo

When you fridge aint got shit but red sauce and salsa
and the hooker upstairs is getting her ass kicked
and your friend is on the front of the newspaper dead wanted or locked down its sorta sad it's kinda like
and the first time you get locked up you might bang your head off the cell door
but the second time is like the time before it's like
and when you see the same hooker get out of the same pick-up truck 6 or 7 times a night when your friend's sellin' her up 50 stone (?) every hour
and hes gettin brand new sneakers it's sorta sad it's like
The People are shit, it's kinda like

I'm a guinnea pig to those who work in corrections
they drag me from my cell and pump me full of injections
drug [dragged] me through hell trying to give me direction
on suit with only my hands as weapons (AAAAAAAAAH!)
your bombin off confessions, never rat on your best freinds
we're only here 'cause they're teachin us lessons
how do I deal with pressure? I keep on pressin into these pussy MC's and I'm a fuckin yeast infection
my jaw's locked and my eyes are bloodshot
sorta like a Robert Downey, Jr. mugshot
crackwhores and the drugspots massage backs and rub cocks and even take it in the mudbox
standin at the bustops until the sun drops slurpin up cum shots like goody goody gumdrops
my (?) stay back and fourth at courts like gun (?)
stuck in a box that never seems to unlock
you've got us like dogs in kennels held by devils they give murderers medals and promote 'em to generals
no remorse for the cities they level as it crumbles to pebbles pillage wherever they settle
cause it's a sour world and you can't sweeten the deal
nothin' but mayonaise is my fridge and that's keepin it real
I used to look like that kid from King of the Hill
and the broker I am man the cheaper I feel

[Immortal Technique]

Yeah...
Its Harlem.. (ahahaa)
Tellin' you the other side of the story (yeah!)
Its that serious (let these muthafuckas know!)

The peoples souls are dirty, unworthy
Your words of salvation are murder capital
Clappin' you on random occasions,
In the hood the good die young 'cause death is impatient
The laws are manufactured by one religious denomination,
Its fate that i spit, sick psychotic analogies
This is a world where niggas pimp the children and their family
The beast and the false prophet, move closer gradually
Unforgivable sins, satanic bestiality
You got the muthafuckin nerve to point your finger mad at me,
Cause' i select to put the world in perspective for clarity,
Street hustle ghetto salary, grammatically perfect
Now fuck soundscan, my sound make your faculty nervous,
Selfish and worthless, placin' they faith in partisan churches,
And too self-righteous to look beyond the curses,
So i made it my purpose to purchase space in your brain,
And flood the fuckin border with Peruvian cocaine!
While they engineer diseases tryna leave you dead again
Corporate strategy, the profit producing the medicine,
My flow is human evolution, savage to elegant
Run up on a nigga, like a military regiment
Cockin' the gat, lock and load, poppin a cap,
Making your stomach acid splatter out a hole in your back
Cold on the track, the soul i hold is older than rap,
So i can the evil and shitty people across the map (hahahaa)

You thought i wouldnt see you for the devil you are,
Fake muthafuckas turn around, tryna be stars,
Turn their back on those who used to be fam,
Over short money, type you get hustling grams.

Fuck outta here'

And when your record label wanna hold your masters, publishing and manage your marketing budget its like...

And when your peeps come home from prison, and cant get a job, then gotta do the same shit, that was the same shit that got them locked up in the first place its like...

And we got our true promoters that put a fuckin gun in a mixtape DJ's mouth just to get him to play a fuckin record that you pressed up yourself and no one else is helping you with, its like..

Yeah.. The people are shit (fuck y'all)

Here's Chuggo's lyrics if anyone wants 'em. There might be a few mistakes and a few I couldn't figure out.

when you fridge aint got shit but red sauce and salsa
and the hooker upstairs is getting her ass kicked
and your friend is on the front of the newspaper dead wanted or locked down its sorta sad it's kinda like
and the first time you get locked up you might bang your head off the cell door
but the second time is like the time before it's like
and when you see the same hooker get out of the same pick-up truck 6 or 7 times a night when your friend's sellin' her up 50 stone (?) every hour
and hes gettin brand new sneakers it's sorta sad it's like
The People are shit, it's kinda like
I'm a guinnea pig to those who work in corrections
they drag me from my cell and pump me full of injections
dr(a,u)g me through hell trying to give me direction
on suit with only my hands as weapons (AAAAAAAAAH!)
your bombin off confessions, never rat on your best freinds
we're only here 'cause they're teachin us lessons
how do I deal with pressure? I keep on pressin into these pussy MC's and I'm a fuckin yeast infection
my jaw's locked and my eyes are bloodshot
sorta like a Robert Downey, Jr. mugshot
crackwhores and the drugspots massage backs and rub cocks and even take it in the mudbox
standin at the bustops until the sun drops slurpin up cum shots like goody goody gumdrops
my (?) stay back and fourth at courts like gun (?)
stuck in a box that never seems to unlock
you've got us like dogs in kennels held by devils they give murderers medals and promote 'em to generals
no remorse for the cities they level as it crumbles to pebbles pillage wherever they settle
cause it's a sour world and you can't sweeten the deal
nothin' but mayonaise is my fridge and that's keepin it real
I used to look like that kid from King of the Hill
and the broker I am man the cheaper I feel

phenomenal lyrics from tech as usual