[Verse 1]

[Verse 1] 
These ideas are nightmares to 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 [bad word]  dad walkin' out 
Cause 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 whacked, 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 years 
{Sing it}, sing for the laughter, sing for the tears, {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 gangsta's 
In the land of the killers, a sinner's mind is a sanctum 
Holy or unholy, only have one homie 
Only this gun, lonely cause don't anyone know me 
Yet everybody just feels like they can relate, I guess words are a  [bad word] they can be great 
Or they can degrade, 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 [bad word] did this metamorphosis happen 
From standin' on corners and porches just rappin' 
To havin' a fortune, no more kissin' [bad word] 
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' cd's while 
police fingerprint me 
They're for the judge's daughter but his grudge is against me 
If i'm such a [bad word]  menace, this [bad word] doesn't make sense Pete 
It's all political, if my music is literal, and i'm a criminal how the [bad word] 
can I raise a little girl 
I couldn't, I wouldn't be fit to, you're full of [bad word] 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 [bad word] 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 cause they think the [bad word] s cool 
Not knowin' we really just protectin' ourselves, we entertainers 
Of course the [bad word] 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 [bad word] up ain't it 
How we can come from practically nothing to being able to have any [bad word]  thing that we wanted 
That's why we sing for these kids, who don't have a thing 
Except for a dream, and a [bad word]  rap magazine 
Who post pin-up pictures on their walls all day long 
Idolize they favorite rappers and know all they songs 
Or for anyone who's ever been through [bad word] 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 fuc