Verse 1
These ideas are nightmares for white parents, whose worst fear is a child with dyed hair and who likes earrings/Like whatever they say has no bearing, it's so scary in a house that allows no swearing/to see him walking around with his headphones blaring, alone in his own zone, cold and he don't care/He's a problem child, and what bothers him all comes out, when he talks about, his fuckin' dad walkin' out/cuz he just hates him so bad that he blocks him out. If he ever saw him again he'd probably knock him out/His thoughts are wacked, he's mad so he's talkin' back, talkin' black, brainwashed from rock and rap/He sags his pants, do-rags and a stocking cap, his step-father hit him, so he socked him back/and broke his nose, his house is a broken home. There's no control, he just let's his emotions go...
Chorus
C'mon! Sing with me (Sing!)/Sing for the year (Sing It)/Sing for the laughter/ sing for the tear (C'mon!) / Sing it with me/Just for today/Maybe tomorrow/The good Lord will take you away...
Verse 2
Entertainment is changin', intertwinin' with gangstas, in the land of the killers, a sinner's mind is a sanctum/ unholy, only have one homie, only this gun, lonely cuz don't anyone know me/Yet everybody just feels like they can relate, I guess words are a mothafucka they can be great/ or they can degrate, or even worse they can teach hate/It's like these kids hang on every single statement we make, like they worship us/plus all the stores ship us platinum, now how the fuck did this metamorphosis happen?/ From standin' on corners and porches just rappin'; to havin' a fortune, no more kissin' ass/But then these critics crucify you, journalists try to burn you, fans turn on you, attorneys all want a turn at you/To get they hands on every dime you have, they want you to lose your mind every time you mad/So they can try to make you out to look like a loose cannon. Any dispute won't hesitate to produce handguns/That's why these prosecutors wanna convict me, strictly just to get me off of these streets quickly/But all they kids be listenin' to me religiously, so I'm signin' CDs while police fingerprint me/They're for the judge's daughter but his grudge is against me. If I'm such a fuckin' menace, this shit doesn't make sense B/It's all political, if my music is literal, and I'm a criminal how the fuck can I raise a little girl?/I couldn't. I wouldn't be fit to. You're full of shit too, Guerrera, that was a fist that hit you!
Chorus
Verse 3
They say music can alter moods and talk to you, well can it load a gun up for you , and cock it too?/Well if it can, then the next time you assault a dude, just tell the judge it was my fault and I'll get sued/See what these kids do is hear about us totin' pistols and they want to get one cuz they think the shit's cool/not knowin' we really just protectin' ourselves, we entertainers, of course the shit's affectin' our sales, you ignoramus/But music is reflection of self, we just explain it, and then we get our checks in the mail. It's fucked up ain't it?/ How we can come from practically nothing to being able to have any fuckin' thing that we wanted/That's why we sing for these kids, who don't have a thing except for a dream, and a fuckin' rap magazine/who post pin-up pictures on they walls all day long, idolize they favorite rappers and know all they songs/Or for anyone who's ever been through shit in their lives, till they sit and they cry at night wishin' they'd die/Till they throw on a rap record and they sit, and they vibe. We're nothin' to you but we're the fuckin' shit in they eyes/that's why we seize the moment try to freeze it and own it, squeeze it and hold it, cuz we consider these minutes golden/and maybe they'll admit it when we're gone. Just let our spirits live on, through our lyrics that you hear in our songs and we can...
Chorus X2
romanize Korean
These ideas are nightmares for white parents, whose worst fear is a child with dyed hair and who likes earrings/Like whatever they say has no bearing, it's so scary in a house that allows no swearing/to see him walking around with his headphones blaring, alone in his own zone, cold and he don't care/He's a problem child, and what bothers him all comes out, when he talks about, his fuckin' dad walkin' out/cuz he just hates him so bad that he blocks him out. If he ever saw him again he'd probably knock him out/His thoughts are wacked, he's mad so he's talkin' back, talkin' black, brainwashed from rock and rap/He sags his pants, do-rags and a stocking cap, his step-father hit him, so he socked him back/and broke his nose, his house is a broken home. There's no control, he just let's his emotions go...
Chorus
C'mon! Sing with me (Sing!)/Sing for the year (Sing It)/Sing for the laughter/ sing for the tear (C'mon!) / Sing it with me/Just for today/Maybe tomorrow/The good Lord will take you away...
Verse 2
Entertainment is changin', intertwinin' with gangstas, in the land of the killers, a sinner's mind is a sanctum/ unholy, only have one homie, only this gun, lonely cuz don't anyone know me/Yet everybody just feels like they can relate, I guess words are a mothafucka they can be great/ or they can degrate, or even worse they can teach hate/It's like these kids hang on every single statement we make, like they worship us/plus all the stores ship us platinum, now how the fuck did this metamorphosis happen?/ From standin' on corners and porches just rappin'; to havin' a fortune, no more kissin' ass/But then these critics crucify you, journalists try to burn you, fans turn on you, attorneys all want a turn at you/To get they hands on every dime you have, they want you to lose your mind every time you mad/So they can try to make you out to look like a loose cannon. Any dispute won't hesitate to produce handguns/That's why these prosecutors wanna convict me, strictly just to get me off of these streets quickly/But all they kids be listenin' to me religiously, so I'm signin' CDs while police fingerprint me/They're for the judge's daughter but his grudge is against me. If I'm such a fuckin' menace, this shit doesn't make sense B/It's all political, if my music is literal, and I'm a criminal how the fuck can I raise a little girl?/I couldn't. I wouldn't be fit to. You're full of shit too, Guerrera, that was a fist that hit you!
Chorus
Verse 3
They say music can alter moods and talk to you, well can it load a gun up for you , and cock it too?/Well if it can, then the next time you assault a dude, just tell the judge it was my fault and I'll get sued/See what these kids do is hear about us totin' pistols and they want to get one cuz they think the shit's cool/not knowin' we really just protectin' ourselves, we entertainers, of course the shit's affectin' our sales, you ignoramus/But music is reflection of self, we just explain it, and then we get our checks in the mail. It's fucked up ain't it?/ How we can come from practically nothing to being able to have any fuckin' thing that we wanted/That's why we sing for these kids, who don't have a thing except for a dream, and a fuckin' rap magazine/who post pin-up pictures on they walls all day long, idolize they favorite rappers and know all they songs/Or for anyone who's ever been through shit in their lives, till they sit and they cry at night wishin' they'd die/Till they throw on a rap record and they sit, and they vibe. We're nothin' to you but we're the fuckin' shit in they eyes/that's why we seize the moment try to freeze it and own it, squeeze it and hold it, cuz we consider these minutes golden/and maybe they'll admit it when we're gone. Just let our spirits live on, through our lyrics that you hear in our songs and we can...
Chorus X2