Lyrics:
Don't hurt me none, don't hurt my pride
'Cause I got my little lady right by my side
She's a-tryin' to hide
Pretendin' she don't know me
I's out
chere
And y'all wants me to be forgiving out chere
I'm supposed to live by Christian ideas
But being homophobic could kill your career
So I switched
there's a knock on the door
Was a letter addressed to me
It read "greetings from the president, united states"
I fell down on my knees
The next day I was
god before they disrespect the law
But yo I gots ta diss 'em
Cause I refuse to be mislead by this ungodly system
Mister president I beatin' on yo
That make me do the hula hoop around the gym
(Just to get a peek again, she's a 10)
Never thought she would come and work for the president
Mr. George
That make me do the hula hoop around the gym
(Just to get a peek again, she's a 10)
Never thought she would come and work for the president
Mr. George
I ain't no nigga, fuck that shit
Does everything come out your mouth got to be a 4-letter word?
The way you talk about women is bullshit, plain
United by a dollar sign
Divided by a decimal
Inner revelation
Outer revolution
United by a dollar sign
Divided by a decimal
Inner revelation
Outer
and freedom by security officers
Yes, it can be said that consciousness is dangerous here
From the seller on the street to the people who build the road
Red rum red rum it's tricky like rev run
I don't talk about the president's unless its dead ones
It was shake and bake back then I used to make bread
of the militant
We serve to the will of the free
Bow down to the cross of a million now
That’s not so plain to see
You wrote the letter, you took the pills
the cost
They put a price up on the lives and souls that still lost
Gone by the finish and couldn't see that we won
I'm thinking too many people had letters
pages
New York native spearhead Mohawks razors my tribal neighbours out weighing their bad intention
Its desolate domestic terrorism from the president
a five by seven
Will I finally get to go to ghetto heaven
Got my bitches on the outside writin' me letters
And they tell me they love me and the shit
the music became by us
The situation required the almighty formula
So I’m mixing numbers with letters now it’s looking like algebra
Do the maths I got it
spilling on the pavement leave a mess huh
Fuck a president the only ones I care about is dead ones (That's right)
Yeah
Tell me who gon love me when I'm down
letter that's written by the big computers (and infinitely kind)
The nuclear bombs (you lose!)
The kids with no moms (we win!)
And I'm fearful that he's
responsible
Roaches in my sweaters
Praying days are better
Struggle in the form of letters
Barely have enough to eat
Rarely bluff making ends meet
Time's tough
Sinatra and stand for president
Painting by numbers is easy to do
Painting by numbers I want to paint you
If I had a ladder I'd climb up to the sky
became by us
The situation requires the almighty formula
So I'm mixing numbers with letters now it's looking like algebra
Do the maths I got the masters
Economists and other high profile individuals to discuss global issues
Driven by the vision of its influential CEO Klaus Schwab
The WEF is the main driving
Intelligent
I always know that the police was the enemy
And every dead president I make will
Be a friend of me
Bitches ain't shit, cuz most of them is evil
notice Yeah
I notice I notice
Verse 1 (RunB)
Baby be bad though
I can tell by the way
I’m an asshole
Taking trips to Abu Dhabi or Morocco
I be
people geniuses
Lynch mob freaks rehearse their show tunes
in the courthouse walls that they take for mirrors
Rehearse for a president's pat on the head
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