[Wyclef Jean - responding to an overlord voice]
Two-thousand and seventeen master!
Every two-thousand years a prophecy is prophesized
To carry out the word of the shephard into this cold world
That just keeps folding
I don't know...
WHO IS THE GROUP
What can make a mighty man run?
Make him drop his pride and hide?
Too black, too strong... WRONG
Spook, Sambo, n*gga, Jig
You ain't so bad, nor big
White sheets make you sad
Fraid you're gonna hang, ahhh
Now THAT'S a black thang
Boy, you scared of me
Hide n*gga hide, flee n*gga flee run n*gga run
If I got my hood, my cross, my tree my gun
And it's a long one