Im sweet like cinnamon when Im spittin this
Lyrical venum
Giving rappers the blues like denim
When Im killin em, fillin em with these syllable
Synonyms of adrenaline spillin off my spiritual
Tongue
Then numbing em like penicillin
Plus Im trying to reach the lost like Gilligan
God willin the spiritual healin, will stop the drug
Dealing
And killing, because Im feeling like Im ready to
Loose my mind
So many bullets be flying, and rydas be dying
Gotta make a difference, for instance, the inmates
In prisons make bad decisions
For lack of wisdom, so I cut them open, and make
Incisions
Fill em with spiritualism, tell em about the one
Thats arisen
How they can be free in they spirit, and have they
Sins forgiven
By the one who died on the cross
'Cause even when they were into all their drinking
And smoking
He loved them even while they were lost
So please listen to me, and stop dissin a G
'Cause I got they remedy on how yall can be free.
Blazing microphones, bringing nothing but that
Heat from the west coast
Chase beats, Bone lyrics like Vito Corleone
We be running things so act like you all know
Boneyard cant be stopped now.
Im not a Jehovah witness, but I witness for
Jehovah
Back in the day, the 1st to slang cane and the
Baking soda
But nowadays, I like preachin the word
Like a drug dealers, slangin; holy rock on the curb
Eyes blurred off the holy ghost, contact smoke
Gotcha tripppin off my rims, crush eyes and my
Rope
Plus Im gifted with flows and wrist is frozen
I thought you all knew dawg, what, Im Gods
Chosen
Highly favored, standing with the elite
Thats stand apart dawg, anointed, bring the word
To the streets
Aint into entertainin the the fame or set you
Claimin
Tha game of namin, unless the name Im naming
Is Jesus on the throne and reining, painting a
Picture for Gs bangin
Og how the Lord can save em, train em like a
Baltimore Raven, engraving
The name of Jesus across they heart, 'cause its
Breakin
Plus Satan is waitin, anticipatin, and hatin
But once they trapped they's no escapin'
I been doing this for 12 years, it aint easy yall
To make hit records that are off the hizzy yall
Especially when them bustas sippin on that
Haterade
Talkin behind your back and trying to stop you on
A day to day
I dont make music for em playa hatas anyway
This is for killers and thugs, thats sippin on the
Alize
Run a ways and essays locked down in prison
Why them, they the ones in need of a physician
And I know the perfect doctor yall
That can heal you when you answer to the alter
Call
He can, fill all the emptiness and void in your
Heart
Thats why I rhyme out of a need and not love of
The art
So listen, my only mission is soul fishing
So when the rapture happens, faces will be on the
Back of milk cartons missing.