Lyrics:
When the skies turn red and the clouds rain blood
No more reality tv fun
Professional whore for all the world to see
Look mom I like totally got
Long lost destinies in my mind's eye
I see it all in the past I find a way to pry back the layers
Golden harmonies
Blood sweat and tears from
dance to the death
Spill blood for my beliefs cause that talk is cheap
Knock out your gold teeth when i branish the heat
Firearms stay warm like
through Compton and see real Bloods
Real Crips
And I'ma always hold you down dat's real shit
I'm the Los Angeles king
And you remind me of Mary the R&B
get me wrong, got four albums, stay consistent
You got a bodyguard, I let my nigga tote the biscuit
Twist ya cap back, you got blood off on ya fur hat
I ain't your regular rapper who
Just be talking shit
Listen to it a lil' closer
Hear the gospel in it
How I maneuver through the
Studio is hallelujah
get deep, I get deep, I get deep, I get deeper, deeper, deeper
Into the rhyme
Chillin' in the corner at the shelter all by myself
Checkin it out
When it all starts going down
Bringing praise to the Holy Son
Even if I’m the only one
By the blood of the Lamb, boy we overcome
By the blood
Medusa's curse I been hard when facin admeasurable odds
I clearly evolve like Bibby when Webber was Gone
The jewels keep me cool when the weather is warm
Dealing with snakes how could I blame Eve
Like it's about to be my time, wouldn't you leave
I believe in my music like gospel
Finding salvation
and I been doing this so long bruh
Agree by far we great, so I'ma take you right back home for
The B-I-R-T-H of Tech, Tech N9ne, N9ne
The B-I
option but kill the game and put it in a choke
Cop it when I see it I don't check with all my folks
Money get deleted reappear with my phone
Y'all gone
cats get they cha-paow, you dead now
Killing fields need blood to graze the cash cow
It's a number game, but shit don't add up somehow
Like I got,
down. America you see the truth as make believe. America tell me do you like what you see.
I came to paint a portrait...the story's being distorted by
you work a 9 to 5 then you leavin
You can stand on the train when you reading
(We must be in love)
Love music gospel to thug music
Some inspire
in, in between
You and yo' dream, why'know?
See it's more than the music, I spit it from the heart
So sometime it's cold n it's dark, but it's raw
bleeds
And when Walstreet Apostles
Preach a gospel of greed
I'll renounce the fame of this gluttonous age
And be a Born-again American
Resistance is
on the tightrope
Screaming "Let him die"
Can't lie I'm a thug
Drowning in my own blood
Looking for the reason that my
Momma's strung out on drugs
Figure if we high
autographs for little kids delight me
We can't help but be some stars in the shining night
See I was raised in the SWATS by my mom and pop
To be a cold
This is, this is
Doing what I gotta do
What up though?
We the best music
I guess I'm on my Don shit
What that mean?
I'mma go
DJ Khaled
Tryna be a captain save-a-hoe, oh? Fasho, homie
Wine and dine her while I lay low, and get my money
And when she's sick of bein' chased, she'll be back
hostile
Ill-Disposed Gospel, People ask why I'm so hostile
Ill-Disposed Gospel, People ask why I'm so hostile
Y'all refute it, but this real music ****, I
I know your baby never hurt nobody
But he got his ass smoked at that Mustard party
Og Blood, everybody know me when I came in with the little
By the Christians, it is written
That in the black Myrthian age
There existed an addiction to blood, blood, blood, blood
Drink it up, fifty
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