These ideas are nightmares to 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 Cause 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 whacked, 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 years {Sing it}, sing for the laughter, sing for the tears, {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 gangsta's In the land of the killers, a sinner's mind is a sanctum Holy or unholy, only have one homie Only this gun, lonely cause 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 degrade, 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' cd's 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 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 cause 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 their 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 fuck