[Verse One]

Where my riders for life in this rodeo

Who know what's it's like to have been Pinocchio

And living the life of slang and colloquial

Let me take you to school like parochial

Tokyo got heat for your Nokia

Hip-Hop World wide and appropriate

But when it tries to make God an associate

Even your phone ringer brings the atrocious

Back up young buck, I know I stretched that word

Ain't nobody hear it, you ain't have to stress that word

Ain't nobody fear it, you ain't have to stress that word

But when people say that got the Spirit

Stress that Word!

Now Hip-Hop music makes the world go round

On a turntable axis and a vinyl ground

Needle over the equator and they dropped it down

That pop and that click was a static sound

Now that click and that pop is an automatic round

Hip-Hop wears an autocratic crown

Who gonna tell this Art anything now?

Cause Hip-Hop can't even hear Hip-Hop now



[Verse Two]

So as Hip-Hop rocks to the break of dawn

Don't nobody leave til six in the morn'

And they all come home like the "Children of the Corn"

Just here to make a killing and they gone

Hip-hop used to say, "Rock on, baby bubba!"

Now it's dang diggy dang da dang!, more baby mothers

And less men at work

And that's even from the "windows to the walls" of the Church

And it's becoming a concocted mixture now

We record contrary tracks and try to mix it down

And people all confused and don't know what to do

I heard a brother leave the church talking bout', "Holler-Lu!"

And another cat talking bout', "Praise the Ford!"

The same cat won the "Most Pimped Out" church van award

And though I've never seen guns

I did see a guy pull out a knot and start speaking in ones

Another said, "Pot is good, all the dime, and all the dime pot is good!"

And if it ain't hit your town, then it could

Hip-Hopcracy don't discriminate by block or hood



[Verse Three]

Well now if Hip-Hop is gonna be true to life

Then Hip-Hop's gotta be true to Christ

Cause as the Hebrew writer cites

His creative endeavors made all things and hold all together

So that kick and snare that jerks your spine

Is cause God made noise work by design

So it's Divine and not by chance

That you can make a hot track and do a little dance

And write a little rhyme

Ain't that crazy?

Words whose sounds match that stimulate the mind

And what if you can write a verse?

How you paying homage to music's Maker with punchlines of curse?

And the stanza's that modern man does are full of vanity, vulgarity and 

propaganda

But I guess that's this age –

We Thugs and Fools

We even stick God up and saying, "Run the jewels!"

But God ain't the type to lay down flat

And put His hand behind His head and turn His back

He's the type to look right back down your pipe

And see the Cross in the crosshairs of your site

And be like, "Oh you sticking me up? No you not

I'm loaning you my stuff, but you on the clock

And when that last tic-tocks, I'm coming to your block

To see what you did with my Son and with my Hip-Hop!"

So woe to all men who have abused the craft

With unjustified math and filthy cash

"Will a man rob God?" No indeed

But that's the sin and attempt of Hip-Hop-cracy