Dah nuh na na nuh 

G4 fo sure, we're goin to war son 

On his snide pride lyin with a smile and forked tongue 

Stealin with his eyes, chillin back of the forefront 

Will's design to ill the mind, but here the fourth horse comes 

Screamin come freedom in this season of drought 

Masonic demons meet in secret, we believe it aloud 

Without the greedy, grubbin, ducky hands just feet in the clouds 

Swingin sickle at these anti Christos, keeping us down 

Blingin, heathen at this bloody freak-nic, geekin to drown 

Crowds of weekend warriors, but Meaty seeked so we found 

Never peace on this earth, reserved for sleep in the ground 

Awaken only perfect in to keep the weakness without 

But who's that creepin in the teachin without speakin a sound? 

The loudest deacon fell asleep and shrouds his speech with a doubt 

Yah's fallen singer, fingers you down to scheme and a shout 

Blinded eyes screamin, "why?" tryin to beef with the how 



(on the ground) 

Wonder how with no wings, but we'll both fly 

Only a fool would bring war on the Most High 

(is that your broken wing) 

Is that your broken wing? misery lovin company, huh? 

Hopin we both die 



He who's living in vain, though it's given us blang 

And paints life in image, gimmicks in this splintering frame 

Tainted gift, that fallen angel clipped, crippled and lame 

Limpin for sympathy, bitch-like, but his riddle's his name 

His fiddle dribbles out the brittlest twang, the vain cynical 

Derail the faith train to enflame your fame, literal 

Brang pain, vain to maintain the slaves brains 

and claims of brave ways, but can't stay safe and hidden though 

It's either beefin or vegans or white Jesus in the middle road 

Posed for sold simpletons 

Frozen in a glimpse of hope 

Focus dimmed and interscoped 

Floatin winter's splintered boat 

Notice hiss in intervals 

Lotus twigs and integrals 

Known as bitch to flitty hoes 

Golden grip and fixing votes 

Sold us six in Christmas "ho's" 

Broken scripts and videos 

Jokin jist skinny bows 

Locin shitty city folk 

Hopin if the kiddies quote 

They'll see him as the pinnacle 

Yah 



My eyes open high to the bloody horse soundin 

Real birds and bees, honey forty four thousand 

Comin on this cloud with a quake and a loud wind 

Singin with this, Jesus to the drum of war poundin 

We found him, now's the season, ain't no reason for doubt, shit 

If you ain't bout it, bout it, you're about to get drowned kid 

Til all praise Yah's triumph, Zion, this mountain 

All that realized, I find my ties at his fountain 

Bounce on witherin, slitherin ain't no side round it 

Or way to stay out, to catch the snake on his down rip 

With triple six brow, frow toutin this foul chip 

Blazin, amazed at how this truth just sounds sick 

Fakes ain't forever like the weather just sound bit 

When lightning strikes twice on my mic and resounded 

We wonder in the thunder ground without the dumb proud shit 

To see you on His judgment with a Blount and a crown vic