God bless the child that can hold it in.
Believe…enemies bleed when I hold my pen.
Let these words be the first to my unborn seeds
so they hear the voice of God clear—blast for me,
blast for your you, and those who come after you.
Keep your peace, until they make you have to use it—
have to lose it—clear choice: after music
comes the fall. So, really, what I'm doing's for y'all.
But you'll never know the truth, never see it for self,
never believe 'cause you can't understand it, or else
have it chewed and spewed back at you, pick it up and endorse it,
then you'll support it, get it to fit. If it don't, then you'll force it.
They say my people are dead. I said it must be a joke,
'cause if that's really the truth that means I'm talking to ghosts.
And I ain't—above believing in what people don't see,
but I can't—believe in it if don't believe in me,
so what are you?"