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 walkin' around With his headphones blaring Alone in his own zone, so cold And he don't care He's a problem child, What bothers him all comes out When he talks about His fuckin' dad walkin' out 'Cuz he hates him so bad That he blocks him out But if he ever saw him again, He'd probly knock him out His thoughts are whacked, He's mad so he's talkin' back Talkin' black, brainwashed From rock and rap He sags his pants, dew-rags And a stockin' cap His stepfather hit him So he socked him back And broke his nose, This house is a broken home There's no control, He just lets his emotions go Come on...
Chorus:
C`mon! Sing it with me (Sing!), Sing it for the year (Sing It!) Sing it for the laughter, Sing it for the tear (C`mon!) Sing it with me, just once again 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 Only ya unholy, only have one homey Only this gun, lonely, 'cuz Don't anyone know me But everybody just feels like they can relate I guess words are a motherfucka, They can be great Or they can degrade, or even worse, They can teach hate It's like 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 wanna turn at you To get their 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, don't hesitate To produce handguns Thats why these prosecutors Wanna convict me Strictly just to get me Off a these streets quickly But all their kids been listen'n 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, Pete 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 But can it load a gun 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 wanna get one, 'cuz they think The shit's cool Not knowin' we're really Just protectin' ourselves We entertainers, of course this shit's Affectin' our sales You ignoramous, 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 nothin' To bein' able to have Any fuckin' thing that we wanted That's why we sing for these kids That don't have a thing Except for a dream And a fuckin' rap magazine Who post pin-up pictures On their walls all day long Idolize their favorite rappers And know all they songs Or for anyone who's ever been Through shit in they lives So they sit and they cry at n