The Jack Back Album Version

Come on, boy. Open up. Damn, you little-Open the door! Bullshit, we into it now, boys. Come here, boy! Well, y'all have left me a nigga, but at Least I shot me a nigga. In country, a man's home is his castle. I've been tagged by the racist scum, and here I come. Klan run 'cause revenge is fun. And I'm that one to make you tap dance With a shotgun. All down to you, they said They had weapons. Gonna teach black people one Lesson. But I ain't going to your school of Fools, so come here and look at my tools. You can meet and greet the Glock 19 in Your nostrils. I'll splatter your dreams. Plans to overthrow are left in limbo 'cause one Loco bro chose to dispose of you and your Skinhead crew. I ain't a house nigga with a .22. I dump a hollow point slug in your Windpipe. Try to breathe, believe the hype. 'Cause this ain't the jungle, fool, and I don't Throw spears. And I ain't leaving here. A Nazi and you ain't never seen Germany. But you was looking for enemies, so you found A young brother with cash. Crash my class, snatch my whole stash. But I'ma get you back like it ain't no Thing. Show you what I learned from the gang. Stack 'em up deep in a six-nine deuce. Long-range scope for the whole damn group. Hanging outside a club called Moonshine, Waiting for the right time. There he is, walking in a Levi's bootcut. The wicked one dropped two shots in his butt. I can't solve racism with a gat, but this Is where my head's at. Get 'em with a Jackpack. If you ask me, the niggas around here have Been treated awful bad for a long time. Them Satanists, I gotta fix 'em. I wanna fix 'em with a crucifixion. Nail 'em to a cross and burn 'em. Burn 'em, burn 'em, burn 'em. It's been said that this would happen. Scandalous skinheads jacking all up in the crib and So forth. Took 'em by force, they had to Break north. The leader had a spray paint can. And on my wall wrote, "Death to the black Man." Burned a cross in front of the hideout, Hoping they could get my race to die out. I'ma cause 'em pain, physical and mental. I speak slowly through the temple. The wicked one is talking trouble. Blast his skulls into pieces of puzzle. Damage 'em so bad they can't stop me. Not enough body left to get an autopsy. Skinheads, we're taking 'em out. Bloodshed, taking 'em out. We caught one of them mixing. Go ahead..38 straight to his forehead. I hit him hard and it hit the spot. I burnish and blot with Mix-a-Lot. Now where's the leader at? Gotta get him back. Gotta get the gat. Gotta get the axe. Call it a revengeful murderous pact. Call it the jackpack. Some things are worth killing for. They burned a cross in my yard. Caught a brother off guard, but I can't cry 'cause I'm hard. They jacked another black, But this black wants payback. I rack up killing stats. Now I'm on the hunt with a 12-gauge pump. Massive hardware's in my trunk. Creeping low and slow. There's one, roll down the window. What's up, fool? It ain't done till the punk stops breathing. Watch Kunta Kinte get even. It goes like that when a brother stays strapped. Couldn't get a job, so I learned to rap. Living kinda large and the skinheads hate me. Run up in my house and they tried to Take me. Now I got the metal to his Dome. A Desert Eagle dipped in chrome. I got a black stocking cap yanked over my Face. Anger has taken rationality's place. Hitler's in the house and I'm taking him out. He shouts with the barrels in his mouth. Before I shoot, he wants to know if I'm White or black. I yank my mask. This has been a jackpack. These boys were trained activists. I'm not a slave, but the Ku Klux Klan And the Aryan Nations say I am. What's behind skinhead's skull to get ya? The reincarnation of Hitler. Now I got a murderous attitude. I'm in a put-him-in-a-casket mood. Remember the days of slavery where they hung many Black men from a tree. We fought to be free real hard, and a Black man's freedom must not be scarred. Calling me an African sambo, but after this, American Psycho. And I'll smoke any skinhead racist with a black Glock masked in my fist. And the morgue will be packed, dead bodies stacked. Memories due to the jackpack. Caught the leader of the skinhead clan. You know the one with the spray paint can. Tore the wood crowbar out the left ear, Out the right eye. Then I took my knife to his chest. Carved a wicked message in the bloody mess. It was a warning for the rest of his Pack. This nigga got 'em with a jackpack.