Nothing's Sacred - CYNE

It’s like lonely children wandering over buildings

Money that makes sense, current events I’m building

Currency to the billions, money became policy

Fueling a man’s greed, the heart of all atrocities

Power easy to please with bitches all on they knees

Praying to golden calves and causing mental disease

Evils, they came inside me, mind became a vulture

Searching for the death in life and calling it pop culture

Stomach ulcer, laceration to my intestines

I’m restless, praying to God—maybe he bless this

A lost prophet, crucifying my final message

But losing meaning like a crucifix hanging from necklace

I’m desperate, making criminal records over police beats

Knowing the ledge, reaching the peak

Knowing the ledge, reaching the peak

Who can’t conform?

Who can’t be told what is norm?

Who gotta perform for therapy?

Whose soul is torn?

I’m feeling that pain but in the most literal sense

I chose to rape the system making dollars and cents

It’s tense walking tightropes and never fall off

My crew got too live—they got hauled off

To the stream we’re taken where nothing’s sacred

I traveled abroad and found God but can’t escape this

Moment of truth where consumers are spoofed on

How I’m supposed to look and sound bringing the King down?

I’m out here to innovate.

Yo, not to mention

When thoughts are cynical, my mind’s in a better state

My life’s like a paradox

Sort of like American dream of making it seems that’s forever sought

We state the obvious

Cause they’re blind though they’re watching us

With binoculars, rich white kids are copping this

Critical words from the poet, not novelist

On the frontline, we stand tall like an obelisk

I’m doctoring words so you can hear the truth in the verse

Lunging at you like a robber that’s attacking the clerk

A thief of the night, showing all my people the light

A neo-Moses moving all the masses with mics

Instead of fish, I give the populous some beans and rice

Speaking to Christ, hoping that the food will suffice

Walking the path, I hold the microphone like a staff

The first is the last—lock, load, ready to blast