[Verse 1: Novej]
I hail from Freedom Hill, on my feet, I stand
And what used to be Fila's and Reebok's, damn
I would meet you at the weed spot where we got grams
Enough, Doc couldn't detox, so need I plan
To squeeze off, man, if we not fam
And let them die for ever trying to calcify my penile gland
Yeah, they rap like fajitas but chica's fan of whose
Getting more play like the east side band, ya heard
She likes diction, a lot of words
Non-fiction, a bad boy pissed and who fly the bird
If he's a Christian, what is this, he got the Earth
93 million miles away, Glock in her purse
Ahk' got the nerve, yeah, I know I ought to serve
Everybody looking for a fix, if I got the work
This is not a curse, chip on my collared shirt
Bless manifest my destiny, yep, without the church
Amen, whose son is making a living
Done chasing the chicken but stashed cake in the kitchen
Some hated we kick it, these bums basically sickened
Not a part of my body, God, too big for tripping, huh
My alibi, tell them I was high when you seen me
Resurrect Malcolm X, raise my Kundalini
Genocide couldn't pry me out the black beanie
Still tapped the bottle of Moscato, watch the genie
[Hook: Jalen Santoy]
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
Praise the gun you gon' have to praise the shooter x4
[Verse 2: Lute]
While YouTube got niggas fooled
Fuck the neh-neh, I'm just trying to get a [?] free like [?]
Whole lot of followers, a lot less leading
When y'all niggas gonna realize you can't hashtag freedom
Hashtag free my nigga when you know he did it
Make us like ignorant, don't air his business
As a culture, now we back where we started, all over
While niggas in the club predict rain like Al Roker
I'm just trying to get us on track like locomotives
Touch your soul, like what's the motive
I just hope you remain focused on what the goal is
God body, young Marcus Garvey, my mama said
Hood's prophet, I'm hood's topic
2 years later, I still got it, fuck the street cred
In the '86 Cutlass bumping Jeezy
Holler at your boy if you ever need me
Cause I'm gone, maybe off the liquor
Or maybe in the '86 Caprice with a lift kit
Either way it goes, I'm lifted
While niggas iced out to the T like they Lipton
Dumbing down their lyrics just to get some recognition
I'll be in the booth like Craig Mack kicking flavor in your system
Uh, or better yet, your eardrum
Fuck the metaphors, hope the truth make you listen
[Hook: Jalen Santoy]
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
Praise the gun you gon' have to praise the shooter x4
[Verse 3: Jalen Santoy]
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
Praising Gandhi, you gon' have to praise the shooter
So hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
Praising Gandhi, you gon' have to praise the shooter
If it's to being self to me, I think I figure that
Most y'all started rapping cause you thought that's where the figures at
Try to change the game like Three 6 before the Oscars
Knowing I'm popping and keep it going, no show-stopping
I'm more like Vlade in LA, you know, without the flopping
Been in game but it's all the same, still point dropping
In the view of the mind and hit up Lauryn, get it popping
It's crazy, she used to stop and never stay and leave you talking
Topics I'm okay with sharing now
Before they didn't think about it, guess who's caring now
Because their favorite rapper been slacking, I'll go and then put a track in
Demolish y'all polished flows that was keeping their fans attracted
And I dig, don't speak on it, karma keep me repenting
Made mistakes and now my plate look like a big pile of spinach
Too strong, had to move on, the city say I'm due, uh
Been at it for some years, we eating free without a coupon
Y'all daughter joined like Groupon, been off that shit
Suggest you go and get a job and try to catch up quick
Dealing with Jasmine last night on some catch up shit
She thinking I done changed, I'm young and grown up quick
So I split
[Hook: Jalen Santoy]
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
Praise the gun you gon' have to praise the shooter x4
[Verse 4: Rapper Big Pooh]
Yeah, it's that joint that make your head nod
Rest in peace, Big Pun, this my terror squad
You don't want me on your songs, it's the fear of God
I remember when they said my verses wasn't hard
Now what's the motive, I'm trying to cop the Lotus
Driving around town, wave my hand like the POTUS
Fat boy, larger than life, they all notice
When niggas think you on, they lining up to be your soldiers
But being broke is like waking up with Folgers
Turn the lights on, we watching roaches
I swore I wouldn't change, spent my money on material things
Me and my niggas roll tough like we started a gang
Fucked a couple broads once, now they calling to hang
Dough told me let them be if they don't call you by name
Floor seats, Madison Square, just catching the game
When they scared to give you props, they just call you a [?] fuck that
