heat...

Underground, on the train, you can't feel the heat
until you take the escalator and emerge onto the street.
The bums bang buckets along the concrete,
and the rhythm that's created is the city's heartbeat.
The philosophy is deep - you're always tempted by the devil,
operating everyday under a different terror level.
And as for the heat, there's never any consolation
except on Red Days with free public transportation.
So we chill at Union Station where relief is still a no-show
and my people buck the Po-Po with the music we call Go-Go.
Cus the way that we've been living is the opposite of Slow-mo
and the election of the president really hit us like a low blow.

Taxation without Representation bitches.