[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?