Verse 1
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, it`s 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 don`t care/He`s a problem child, and what bothers him all comes out, when he talks about, his fuckin` dad walkin` out/cuz he just hates him so bad that he blocks him out. If he ever saw him again he`d probably knock him out/His thoughts are wacked, 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 let`s his emotions go... 
Chorus
C`mon! Sing with me (Sing!)/Sing for the year (Sing It)/Sing for the laughter/ sing for the tear (C`mon!) / Sing it with me/Just for today/Maybe tomorrow/The good Lord will take you away... 
Verse 2
Entertainment is changin`, intertwinin` with gangstas, in the land of the killers, a sinner`s mind is a sanctum/ unholy, only have one homie, only this gun, lonely cuz don`t anyone know me/Yet everybody just feels like they can relate, I guess words are a mothafucka they can be great/ or they can degrate, or even worse they can teach hate/It`s 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, attorneys all want a turn at you/To get they 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/That`s why these prosecutors wanna convict me, strictly just to get me off of these streets quickly/But all they kids be listenin` to me religiously, so I`m signin` CDs while police fingerprint me/They`re for the judge`s 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, well 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 totin` pistols and they want to get one cuz they think the shit`s cool/not knowin` we really just protectin` ourselves, we entertainers, of course the shit`s affectin` our sales, 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 nothing to being able to have any fuckin` thing that we wanted/That`s why we sing for these kids, who don`t have a thing except for a dream, and a fuckin` rap magazine/who post pin-up pictures on they walls all day long, idolize they favorite rappers and know all they songs/Or for anyone who`s ever been through shit in their lives, till they sit and they cry at night wishin` they`d die/Till they throw on a rap record and they sit, and they vibe. We`re nothin` to you but we`re the fuckin` shit in they eyes/that`s why we seize the moment try to freeze it and own it, squeeze it and hold it, cuz we consider these minutes golden/and maybe they`ll admit it when we`re gone. Just let our spirits live on, through our lyrics that you hear in our songs and we can... 
Chorus X2