I'm trying to change this music, my nizzle

It's official, I'm tired of hearing heaters that whistle and sizzle when gangstas pull out they pistols

I'm like money trying to get in the middle and settle the difference

Cuz too many rappers is tripping, don't nobody wanna listen

Plus I'm tired of all the cussing and cursing

So I started rehearsing working on converting a better version

For every person that's hurting lurking searching for life's purpose

Feeling suicidal and worthless but you ain't certain

If you ready to die and leave this earth's surface then cross over

And see what's on the side of this life's curtain

Call me the Moses of rap, taking it back to tha days when this artifact

Wasn't bout the woman and gats

I'm sick of this rap, matter a fact

How many more women you find to pimp, and gangstas we gonna cap

We murdered them all, Pac and Biggie there ain't here anymore

Better do something, sound the trumpet, cuz' I'm goin to war


Chorus

To all the playas popping off at the lip, oh

Fronting the street game like you a pimp, no

Ya coming up but going down wit tha ship, bro

Ya better let that thang go

And all tha ladies that be shaking they hips, oh

Up in tha strip clubs stacking em chips, no

Top of tha world, but you down in tha pits, ma

Ya better let that thang go


It's the Nicaraguan son of Big Pun, who flip tongs

On kick drums, and leave rappers like victims from big guns

Better panic, cuz I'm charismatic and automatic

When it comes to this phonographic magic, I gotta have it

Like an addict, I'm the magnet pulling these Asiatic and Hispanics bandits

To make em put down tha cannons, I'm standing for unity in rural communities

Filled with darkness and cruelty, where men get woman paid off of nudity

It's soon to be all over, I crossover barriers of hate and racism plus I bring the Cross over

I'm out to change all the images in our villages, and all the religious criticisms from church citizens

Always pointing, judging, shrugging ya shoulders at the adulterers, fornicators, and cobras

But never question our culture, Biggie prophesied ready to die

50 took 5 and got rich and Pac's mamma still crying


Suckas surfing the internet trying to find kids for sex, and placing bets

Credit card fraud is next, they write them checks for chicks on em porno flicks

When they shake they hips sick wit them chain and whips it gets

Even worse, truth hurts, don't be mad at me, I ain't the one getting paid enhancing they anatomy

And gradually, they rotten out like bad cavities, then periodically prostituting and armed robberies

This how we raise the little children of America to grow up and be criminal, rapist, and bomb terrorist

From the second they're born, innocent but torn

Between these 2 worlds fighting for souls, like tug a war

Who's keeping score got juveniles in the morgue, while killas winning awards

And steady and praising the Lord, they cheer and roar

Ego tripping has gotta stop, gotta shine and rhyme in his name instead of hip-hop


How many more of our people gotta die

Before we decide, genocide isn't only in war

It's also in the words that we write

We got tha power


I keep it gully like a Cali general running the streets, ya freeze when I speak

Memorized my style is unique, we bringing the heat like the Bahamas talking the word

From Nicaragua to communist countries like China, Iraq and Havana, canta lo, Godson levanta lo

They lace the beats then I rock the flow, she hit them notes

Collab then we rock the show, think we blessed

No doubt, count the dough, we make about oh 25-30 a show

People flying from other countries just to hear tha Bone flow

Sick wit the skills to the point that they wanna honor me

But I'm not honoree I'm on the Rock like Sean Connery

And yall fond of me, the rest is just wanna be's