[Verse 1 - Boots Riley (and E-Roc)]
1986 a motherfucker doing tricks in the mix and I don't mean the fader
Face of zits but getting grits with black steel firesticks
Trying to build an Empire something like Darth Vader
Now Lonzo was armed with nothing but a mean mug
(But tucked a forty-five, with forty-five slugs)
He was a jitterbug thug, at the dance, cuttin a rug
(Treatin his sisters like a hooker) Greetin his partners with a hug
Breakdown shakedown, this brother would take pounds
Of soon to be cake grounds, and then go make rounds
Firearms protected wads of gorgeous green
Paper stacks of paid tax off of broken dreams
At puberty his liberty was found within a ki
Rocks were cookin but he's lookin for a way to be free
Here's a ki (there's a ki) but Lonzo, where's yours?
There's no key to the door, but there's money on the floor
(So stoop down) bend over (hurry pick it up fast)
But watch out, Lonzo -- YOU'LL GET FUCKED IN THE ASS

[HOOK]

[Verse 2 - Boots Riley (and E-roc)]
Knock knock (who is it?) time to visit but it's two years late
Cause Lonzo's rollin harder and it's 1988
He's got some fat ends, got some more friends, (and a brand new Benz)
He's got respect and he suspects that it won't end
A couch is still a couch (and a chair is still a chair)
But a house is now a crackhouse, Luther, Lonzo's there
Dying brains, dying bodies, taken from these dead residence
Trying in vain to kill their pain, exchanging dead presidents
Many bourgeoise parlez francoise (I don't speak it but I know it)
It's all the same (the business game) but you go to jail for this shit
We were tribal our survival was now based on stoppin rivals
Who's the fittest, as I raise my fists, I can't survive and not be ruthless
(So while we scrape, and scratch for bones
And a cellular phone, somebody's sittin on the throne
Cause they don't let, black folks own)
THEY JUST GIVE US THIS SHIT ON LOAN, KICK IT
[HOOK]

(Ahaha, yeah, what was I fidna say?
Aww yeah Lonzo's back in the County, man)
Damn we'll go visit him on Sunday when we visit Dee, aight?

[Verse 3 - Boots Riley (and E-roc)]
(Madge says that Bounty is the quicker-picker-upper)
Well Lonzo says the County is the slip-up, trip-up, stuck-up
Years of unsettled funk and who gets what bunk junk
Makes you feel like you took a test and flunked
(But don't get disturbed or perturbed; the teacher's
On my last nerve, plus he grades with a downhill curve)
Told Lonzo kick it, the system is wicked, trick it, but dig it
We got a way to lick it, gave him a book, said, "Here's the ticket"
(Now he's addicted) to learnin how we been afflicted
And what distributin that shit did
I made a quick bid to say, "Don't trip kid
You never worked for the mob" (You had a government job)
Lonzo knew I was right, no fight, now we're tight
(Plus he been out of jail about a year ago last night)
Now he hangs with us for revolutionary ruckus
And five-oh, more than ever wants to fuck us
Just cause we know the road to riches is crooked and narrow
We'll get more power from a hundred thousand gun barrels