Broken Wing

Dah nuh na na nuh

G4 fo sure, we're goin to war son

On his snide pride lyin with a smile and forked tongue

Stealin with his eyes, chillin back of the forefront

Will's design to ill the mind, but here the fourth horse comes

Screamin come freedom in this season of drought

Masonic demons meet in secret, we believe it aloud

Without the greedy, grubbin, ducky hands just feet in the clouds

Swingin sickle at these anti Christos, keeping us down

Blingin, heathen at this bloody freak-nic, geekin to drown

Crowds of weekend warriors, but Meaty seeked so we found

Never peace on this earth, reserved for sleep in the ground

Awaken only perfect in to keep the weakness without

But who's that creepin in the teachin without speakin a sound?

The loudest deacon fell asleep and shrouds his speech with a doubt

Yah's fallen singer, fingers you down to scheme and a shout

Blinded eyes screamin, "why?" tryin to beef with the how

(on the ground)

Wonder how with no wings, but we'll both fly

Only a fool would bring war on the Most High

(is that your broken wing)

Is that your broken wing? misery lovin company, huh?

Hopin we both die

He who's living in vain, though it's given us blang

And paints life in image, gimmicks in this splintering frame

Tainted gift, that fallen angel clipped, crippled and lame

Limpin for sympathy, bitch-like, but his riddle's his name

His fiddle dribbles out the brittlest twang, the vain cynical

Derail the faith train to enflame your fame, literal

Brang pain, vain to maintain the slaves brains

and claims of brave ways, but can't stay safe and hidden though

It's either beefin or vegans or white Jesus in the middle road

Posed for sold simpletons

Frozen in a glimpse of hope

Focus dimmed and interscoped

Floatin winter's splintered boat

Notice hiss in intervals

Lotus twigs and integrals

Known as bitch to flitty hoes

Golden grip and fixing votes

Sold us six in Christmas "ho's"

Broken scripts and videos

Jokin jist skinny bows

Locin shitty city folk

Hopin if the kiddies quote

They'll see him as the pinnacle

Yah

My eyes open high to the bloody horse soundin

Real birds and bees, honey forty four thousand

Comin on this cloud with a quake and a loud wind

Singin with this, Jesus to the drum of war poundin

We found him, now's the season, ain't no reason for doubt, shit

If you ain't bout it, bout it, you're about to get drowned kid

Til all praise Yah's triumph, Zion, this mountain

All that realized, I find my ties at his fountain

Bounce on witherin, slitherin ain't no side round it

Or way to stay out, to catch the snake on his down rip

With triple six brow, frow toutin this foul chip

Blazin, amazed at how this truth just sounds sick

Fakes ain't forever like the weather just sound bit

When lightning strikes twice on my mic and resounded

We wonder in the thunder ground without the dumb proud shit

To see you on His judgment with a Blount and a crown vic