Is the Lord really blessing all the trap niggas

I can hear the deafening silence, visions of serene violence

Ideling in a unsteady position, I can feel the resistance 

You not listening, niggas not enlisting but flex metal, bodies dropping

Your presence is toxic

 

We still in them chains

They threw us in bookin

They looks are so crooked 

We gettin to bussin

They ain't no resting

 

Label us as murders and robbers

Holding a chopper, no fear of them coppers

What if I had a son and he wanted to be doctor not running the ball like Doctson

What if I wanted to give my kids options; Harvard or Cambridge

Or from them to walk down the street and get looks as if they tainted

Painted pictures with words no 16 Chapel but Michaelangelo

He had his snacthed, Medici family none in sight

Cause I'm Kelechi from a small village, just an opportunity to pillage 

Its basic civics dreaming of that Panamera 911 trying to escape the 7's cry

U gon die for juice no grey goose a little henny tho

 

They threw us in bookin

They looks are so crooked 

We getting to bussin

They ain't no resting

 

Belittle us, terminate my culture

Then pick it clean like a vulture