[Verse 1: Derek Minor]
Marijuana in his jean pocket
9 millimeter, you don't want that boy to clock it
Chevy Caprice classic
Dvd in the dash
Bumping that Flocka like "I will let these boys have it! "
Twisted mentally, hold his pistol like, "Lord, thank you"
He on a mission, no superstition, he is a gangsta
In the jungle, the cops is poachers, they want him captive
Rival gang, he killed their homie, they want him blasted
Uh-huh, and that's like every single day, Brotha
In the hood, I know the Devil is undercover
So my goal is pull back the covers
And pray to God he saves some fathers for all our mothers
What I see in my backyard is no goodie
Just found out that black men can't wear hoodies
They see a mug shot, I see creation of God
That need the Spirit to grip his soul, soften his heart
Put the gun away, you don't wanna blast me
Cause the Father made men like a Gi Joe factory
Life ain't yours to take homie, he ain't having it
You have no right to break a dish in his china cabinet
Oppress people plus broke, it's simple mathmatics
The Desert E squeeze will flip 'em like gymnastics
And I'm supposed to just say nothing
Nah, I'mma say something!

[Verse 2: R-Swift]
Cops, armor, and shots create insomniacs
The concrete jungle we struggle for survival at
I push hope where reality seems to rival that
I want change but become first that's where my mind is at
Crack in the airwaves, dope in the beats
Hypnotized mind, so no hope in the streets
Old heads saying that peace is something foreign
To far from the days when they were marching with Martin
Priorities departed I wonder what rearranged them
A whole generation and not enough men to raise 'em
From the street and they wonder where I get my pain from
I guess it comes from knowing what can change 'em
They say that I'm wasting my time preaching
But obviously to me there's no wasting my lines reaching
I mix some Martin Luther with rap, a real lane
Truth in the facts, some revolution for spare change

[Verse 3: Sho Baraka]
I used to wish for the day that I could make it up to Jacob
But now I'm on my Jacob I wrestle with God, I wake up
Watching these fools, I'm seeing how time's wasted
It seems like the finish line moves when I'm racin'
Surgical rap for those who've been scarred
Disconnected from the source but still getting charged
And on the Tv I feel like the people need me
My pen speaks freely I'm something like Phyllis Wheatley
Watching what I'm eating, the poison it got me fed up
Civil rights music, Malcolm X, Mandella
We bump Pac, Aficans, Bob Feller
Music is therapy until times get better
Walking on the streets I get this disturbing feeling
I don't gotta hit Uganda to see invisible children
Swimming up creek
Life's hard, life's a beach
I seen them drowing up in my backyard
Yeah, and change doesn't come from closed lips
It's hard to greet peace when you live with a closed fist
We want that Imago Dei, image before the fall
He's our perfect picture, win, lose, or draw
Life has got to be more than going to malls
Finding a broad, Hammer Time and nailing them all
This is rap with a cause
Saints, sinners and God
I will not sell my soul just to get an applause
To all involved I know that the system's flawed
Unjust laws has got my people on pause
This is the voice of the old Negro Citians
Mysterious bombings of a black holy business
Am I the only witness that still feels the persistence
Strong arm of a slave-owning Christian
Huh, I'm back in Hell again
Oh snap, is this about my melanin'?