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Verse 1

These ideas are nightmares for 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

cuz 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 wacked, 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 year (Sing It)

Sing for the laughter

sing for the tear (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 gangstas, in the land of the killers, a sinner's mind is a sanctum

unholy, only have one homie, only this gun, lonely cuz 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 degrate, 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' CDs 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 B

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 cuz 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 they 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 fuckin' shit in they eyes

that's why we seize the moment try to freeze it and own it, squeeze it and hold it, cuz we consider these minutes golden