These ideas are nightmares to white parentsWhose worst fear is a child with dyed hair and who likes earrings,Like whatever they say has no bearingIt´s so scary in a house that allows no swearingTo see him walkin´ around with his headphones blaringAlone in his own zone, cold and he don´t careHe´s a problem child, what bothers him all comes outWhen he talks about his fuckin´ dad walkin´ out´Cuz he hates him so bad that he blocks him outBut if he ever saw him again, he´d probly knock him outHis thoughts are whacked, he´s mad so he´s talkin´ backTalkin´ black, brainwashed for rock and rapHe sags his pants, dew-rags and a stockin´ capHis stepfather hit him so he socked him backAnd broke his nose, his house is a broken homeThere´s no control, he just lets his emotions go- ChorusC`mon! Sing it 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 todayMaybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away Entertainment is changin´, intertwinin´ with gangstasIn the land of the killers, a sinner´s mind is a sanctumHoly or unholy, only have one homieOnly this gun, lonely, ´cuz don´t anyone know meBut everybody just feels like they can relateI guess words are a motherfucka, they can be greatOr they can degrade, or even worse, they can teach hateIt´s like kids hang on every single statement we makeLike they worship us, plus all the stores ship us platinumNow how the fuck did this metamorphosis happen?From standin´ on corners and porches just rappin´To havin´ a fortune, no more kissin´ assBut then these critics crucify you, journalists try to burn youFans turn on you, attorneys all wan´ a turn at youTo get their hands on every dime you haveThey want you to lose your mind every time you madSo they can try to make you out to look like a loose cannonAny dispute, don´t hesitate to produce handgunsThats why these prosecutors wanna convict meStrictly just to get me off a these streets quicklyBut all their kids been listen´n to me religiouslySo I´m signin´ CDs while police fingerprint meThey´re for the judge´s daughter, but his grudge is against meIf I´m such a fuckin´ menace, this shit doesn´t make sense BIt´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 toYou´re full of shit too, Guerrera, THAT WAS A FIST THAT HIT YOU! Vice na www.karaoketexty.cz
Hodnocení uloženo