These ideas are nightmares for white parents



Whose worst fear is a child with dyed hair and who likes earrings



Like whatever they say has no bearing



Its so scary in a house that allows no swearing



To see him walking around with his headphones blaring



Alone in his own zone cold, and he dont care



He's a problem child, what bothers him all comes out



When he talks about his fuckin' dad walkin out



Cos he hates him so bad that he blocks him out



But if he ever saw him again, he'd prolly knock him out



His thoughts are whacked, he's mad so he's talkin' back



Talkin black, brainwashed from rock and rap



He sags his pants, Do rags and a stocking cap



His step-father hit him so he socked him back



And broke his nose, his house is a broken home



There's no control, he just lets his emotions go



Come on... 







Chorus:



Sing with me, sing for the year



Sing for the laughter, sing for the tear



Sing with me, just for today



Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away 







Verse #2



Entertainment is changing, intertwining with gangsters



In the land of the killers, a sinner's mind is a sanctum



Only you're unholy, only have one homey



Only this gun, lonely, cuz don't anyone know me



But everybody just feels like they can relate



I guess words are a motherfucker, they can be great



Or they can be degrate, or even worse, they can teach hate



Its like these kids hang on every single statement we make



Like they worship us, plus all the stores ship us platinum



Now how the fuck did this metamorphosis happen?



From standin' on corners and porches just rappin'



To havin' a fortune, no more kissin' ass



But then these critics crucify you, journalists try to burn you



Fans turn on you, attorney's all wanna turn at you



To get their hands on every dime you have



They want you to lose your mind every time you mad



So they can try to make you out to look like a loose cannon



Any dispute won't hesitate to produce handguns



Thats why these prosecutors wanna convict me



Strictly just to get me offa these streets quickly



But all their kids be listen'n to me religiously



So i'm signing cds while police fingerprint me



They're for the judges daughter, but his grudge is against me



If i'm such a fuckin' menace, this shit doesn’t make sense, B’



It's all political, if my music is literal and i'm a criminal,



How the fuck can i raise a little girl?



I couldn't. i wouldn't be fit to



You're full of shit too, Guerrera, that was a fist that hit you! 







Chorus







Verse #3



They say music can alter moods and talk to you



But can it load a gun up for you and cock it too?



Well if it can, then the next time you assault a dude



Just tell the judge it was my fault, and I’ll get sued



See what these kids do, is hear about us toting pistols



And they want to get one, cos they think the shit's cool



Not knowin' we're really just protectin' ourselves



We entertainers; of course this shit's affecting our selves



You ignoramus. but music is reflection of self



We just explain it, and then we get our checks in the mail



It's fucked up ain't it, how we can come from practically nothin'



To bein' able to have any fuckin' thing that we wanted



It's why we sing for these kids that don't have a thing



Except for a dream and a fucking rap magazine



Who post pinup pictures on their walls all day long



Idolize their favorite rappers and know all they songs



Or for anyone who's ever been through shit in they lives



So they sit and they cry at night, wishing they die



Till they throw on a rap record, and they sit and they vibe



We're nothing to you, but we're the fuckin' shit in their eyes



That's why we seize the moment, and try to freeze it and own it



Squeeze it and hold it, 'cos we consider these minutes golden



And maybe they'll admit it when we're gone



Just let our spirits live on, through the lyrics that you hear in our songs



And we can 







Chorus







Chorus without Beat







Instrumental