[intro]
At this time I have the honor to present to you...
The moral leader of our Nation...

[Verse 1]
I self lord and my pen
Once again sitting here at the tear of thought
Meditating of the hip plus the hip must hop
As I drop my style I let the lessons be taught
Praises are due to the arm-leg-leg, arm, the head
To Allah, if you’re mentally dead
But if you’re self wise, to the knowledge of self
Then you may comprehend the great truth that I’ve said
Knowledge is the base of all life within the cipher
Or the first step towards the righteous rhyme
Knowledge is the weight upon the black man’s brain
Or his third eye which is known as the mind
As I proceed to get paid I go on
The Islamic thought might bust this mic
The Poor Righteous Teachers gonna teach them all
‘Cause I-self lord beats God by birthright
Pickin’ up the thoughts that I thought could teach
Father S getting paid on the two Technics
The Poor Righteous Teacher’s posse’s large
Rolling to the Wise, think it’s time to say peace