Purified Thoughts

"Am I a good man? ..."

Take my hands out my pockets you can see my thumbs

Both of them turned green, from countin the ones

Memorized by the glory, word life

Cut off niggaz who killed Bill but couldn't do nuttin for me

Shout 'em out every once in the blue and kid too

I never rocked with, laws they keep away we cool

I devised my own stimulus, plan I'm niggarish

I'm tired of eatin those crumbs and black licorice

The frame of mind so {?} like cleansin the mic

Let the imam pray over my head and wash

Thoughts, sterilized, purified, Godly

Watch us gift men and fetch the green like barley

If that shit happen I'll feed his whole army

Talkin 'bout the angels and peeps in Somali

Try to stay humble, and swallow my pride

In God I trust, now talk about the ones on your five

Crisp dollar billin, catch me in a little hut in Beneen

Village style, feedin the children

Big pots of jasmine tea with Mandela

Africans chantin me on like Coachella

Ghostface bom ba ye, kumbiya my Lord

My death day, 24 karat tomb I lay

Wishin they could bury me, next to the prophets

Nabi, Lut, Is'haq, Musa, Harun, Muhammad

Ibrahim

"Am I a good man?" (I don't know)

"Am I a fool?" (We'll see)

The Lord takes me, gathering speeds before winds

High currents, places we formin wings

Kings offering, thrones was there

Man with the 7 crowns on his dome was near

Feet walked over rose petals, song from the ghetto

Face froze in gold like the pharaoh

A dawn in glory, robe of light, a powerful cherub

As he passed the path, white doves cost the eyes of thugs

Eternal heartbeat, in the dark fire in his blood

700 books were opened

It breaks to right, they threw the crooks in the ocean

Scared, brass hair like it grew from goatskin

The chosen has spoken, tablets were broken

The smoke hand grabs an omen

Gravity grabbin me gradually draggin me through hell's cavity

This is blasphemy, I fell where the jackals be

God felt bad for me but cast me into Caspain Sea

Satan draggin his key, Wu-Family's the faculty

K.P., K.P.

"Am I a good man? Am I a fool?

"Am I?"

He used to sling in the stairwell

Fast to put the rap on thinking cap, ignite your hair gel

No such thing as a fair sale

He'll put the bullet out same day, delivery airmail

And on this level a thug'll sell you garbage

No refund, the only exchange from the cartridge

Where the youths is kept comin back with they life earnings

Ready to make a deal, soul and pipe burning

The outcome tragic, household dramatic

Living rooms to {?}, basements to attics

Support from the B, hit the courts from a fiend

who betrayed one, who had lit the torch for his team

So they sent him gifts, body parts per diem

in a box that held prints but too dark to see 'em