Listen
Here’s a letter to the pope
The devil is dope
The Vatican is the world’s crossroad
From which to peddle the coke
Catholicism the occult
Symbolism — crucifix is a sword
Political exorcism
Your religion’s a fraud
When you know for a fact
Father Flanigan gets off
From having little altar boys nuts
In his hands again
Rubbin em with hand lotion
Heavy on the lanolin
You don’t even acknowledge
So stop the shenanigans
The priest can’t get pussy
So he prey on the flock
When young boys
Innocent souls pray it’ll stop
And that’s your dirty little secret
Childhood innocent lost
But it’s ok — you do it in the name of the cross
What’s the answer
When the father like man fur
And he ran through the whole CCD class
Give him a transfer
And the cycle continues
New church — new state — clean slate
Guess what’s on the menu
Little Boys
What goes up it must come down
And what goes round — it comes back round
That’s Karma
What goes up it must come down
And what goes round — it comes back round
That’s Karma
What goes up it must come down
Dear Mr. Obama
I don’t call you the president
You’re not setting a precedent
You’re just another white house resident
But the feeling in the air
At your inauguration’s strange shit
You answered my prayers
But you ain’t change shit
When you talk to the Jews
Tell em let the dollars flow
It’s impossible to follow
Where the fuck the dollars go I know the Bush’s got a mother fucking stack
I thought cause you was black
That you would make it half price on the crack
It’s the same trilateral commission
Same Skull and Bones black op mission
The American tradition
Barely living with no pot to piss in What ya call it «organized crime»
I’m calling it ambition man listen
I’m juggling hip hop
And hustling
Some call it extortion
Me I say it’s muscling
I don’t need Obama — Uncle Tom
To lack a paper
Make your neighbor
Put a bomb in your trunk
What the (explosion)
To the boys in blue
The biggest gang
That the world’s ever seen
When you pull me over
See me on that lean
From that Promethazine
Please do not blow my high
With that license, registration bullshit
Flashlight all in my eye
I’m not drunk — I don’t take a breathalyzer
Can’t walk a straight line
Go ahead lock me up Fuck it hit me with a fine
Impound my car lieutenant
I don’t mind — plant an ounce of blow
A thirty eight — shoot me in the spine
Cut my life short when I’m in my prime
DJ Henry died — he never committed a crime
You can’t never trace the blueprints
I’m God’s design
Amongst the angels or the demons
In my mind intertwined