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 won 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 walking out,
because he hates him so bad that he blocks him out,
if he ever saw him again he's probably knock him out,
his thoughts are wacked, he's mad so he's talking back,
talking black, brainwashed from rock and rap,
he sags his pants, do-rags and a stalking cap,
his step father hit him, so he socked him back,
and broke his nose, this house is a broken home,
there's no control, he just lets his emotions go.... c'mon
Sing with me (sing!)
Sing for the year (sing it!)
Sing for the laughter
Sing for the tear (c'mon)
Sing with me, just for today,
and maybe tomorrow, the good lord will take you away
Entertainment is changing, intertwining with gangsters,
in the land of the killers, a sinners mind is a sanctum,
holy or unholy, only have one homie,
only this gun, lonely, because don't anyone know me,
and everyone just feels like they can realte,
i guess words are a mothafucker, 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 metamorphisis happen,
from standing on corners and porches just rapping,
to having a fortune, no more kissing ass,
but then these critics crucify you, journalists try to burn you,
