Conversations with God but i dont know his name
The preacher man be fraud it's all a game
A religion keeping kings as slaves
If that be the case wait
I ain't trynna be saved
I'm trapped in a trap living life but in chains
Wear a smile over the pain
Hypocrites with no shame
In the club on a Saturday in church on a sunday
Then it's back on the block on a monday
Went away for a decade ain't a damn thing changed
Rich getting poor shits not even the same
Politicians too dey lie and dem never go fit change
People suffer suffer everyday but never see no change
Yelling Africa unite but they can't hear me say it or they won't maybe
I should sound cooler when I say fuck the rulers yall insane
Just puppets in a game from 57 till date
We just modern day slaves
Drop your arms in a big pit
The arms stink like your armpits
The arms split like an armed kid cause harm quick
Because I'm sick when I shake you It's like an earthquake
It's all love cousin you my brothers like my mom's kid
Fat guinea pigs in a lab it's an experiment
Experience what you can and leave the world to figure it
Configure it to every bit till it all diminishes
The mission is find God don't be ignorant coming quick
Flying too close to the sun
Deep in the slums
I'm just out here trynna have fun with my day ones
We fight everyday we for stand
The things we did to make it out here
Your eye see you saf you go run
It's the most indelible sick without an antidote
Dropping classic hits drinking out my chalice
Swimming in a pile of gold
Just smoking in my palace
Let the powers that be understand this
There is only one God but many rulers on this planet
I cleverly maneuver you should study all my tactics
Do this in my sleep I don't even have to practice
Money got an attitude because I been getting mad chips
Martin with an army of martians in my mosh pit
Damn right I done lost it a menace to the last bit
My bars making all your wack rappers get nauseous
Usually don't do this but I had to break a promise
The rhetoric delegate about to get intimate with this shit
Wickedest lyricist casting spells from my oesophagus
The black Gambino no childish tendencies
I spit logic till I'm running out of memory