Four Better or Worse (Pt.3)

Penitentiaries filling us, preachers faking they’re healing us
The hell in us is telling us gun’s our saviour, helping us
Harriet’s my prophet but y’all can ignore the messages
And pray to every god that wasn’t made for the rest of us
Black was never in the cold, the bodies generated soul
Got my eyes stuck on it like looking at a centrefold
Bullets verse the intellect, sword not mighty as the pen
Then again, you gotta know when dealing with the sinnermen
I don’t do this for the top spin, this isn’t Wimbledon
I do it for the Trayvons, Tamirs and fuck the Zimmermans
I do it for the Floyds, Amads, and their remembrance
Sometimes I’m so annoyed but then I get my vengeance in
A nigga who can read exceeds speeds at ease
Beyond weeds my high can float the seven seas
Drain honey from any bees while in the garden of Eden
Spark up your memories from lives you can believe
Geez, and still keep cool throughout the streets
It’s a metronome, a pulse, a motherfucking beat