| I was nine years old when daddy first touched me
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| At 15 I ran away and never stopped running
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| I met a man who took me in 'cuz I was pretty though
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| He said that you could make some money in my video
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| I get high and drunk just to make it through a show
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| And act like I’m enjoying it but really this is all a show
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| I feel degraded, purity obliterated
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| This is all I know and I really hate it
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| Mr. Minor are you listening? |
| I know that you’re a Christian
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| And got computer programs to block me from your vision
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| And every time you watch me you say that I’m the issue
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| Your pastor preaching about how not to let me catch you slipping
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| But maybe I’m a victim, maybe I’m just trapped in the system
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| And next time you pray maybe I might get a mention (please)
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| Before you talk about me remember that I’m lost
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| And your secret pleasure coming at a cost
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| Dear Mr. Christian, I know you’re on a mission
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| I know you say the answer to my problem is religion
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| I know I’m supposed to change the way I live and stop sinning
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| But I’d appreciate it if you take some time to listen
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| Dear Mr. Christian
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| Man I’m on that chronic
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| Higher than a comet
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| Sippin' gin and tonic
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| Drinking till I vomit
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| Tatted on my arms, tatted on my face
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| Pants hanging low, nina on my waist
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| I be slanging soft, plus I got that hard
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| Die for my hood, ride for my boulevard
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| I got love for my dogs but never for these girls
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| It’s M.O.E. |
| 'cuz money rule the world
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| But Mr. Dee-1, I grew up crummy
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| Saw my pops get killed in front of me
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| Saw my momma do dope in front of me
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| Felt like ain’t nobody love me
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| Uniform dirty, dressing bummy
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| Went to school they called me ugly
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| Caught the bus they used to jump me
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| God I just prayed to you Sunday
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| Now it’s Monday, I’m starving
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| Sip sour milk out of the carton
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| Talk to myself while I’m out walking should I put myself in a coffin?
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| I don’t know! |
| All I grew up with was trouble
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| Ain’t know no role model, I knew the struggle
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| Dear Mr. Christian, I know you’re on a mission
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| I know you say the answer to my problem is religion
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| I know I’m supposed to change the way I live and stop sinning
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| But I’d appreciate it if you take some time to listen
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| Dear Mr. Christian
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| Excuse me, I don’t quite understand you
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| Propaganda and banter and all of this empty chatter
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| And amidst these amens, hallelujahs, and shuck and jiving
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| I see a lot of hypocrites and hyper-criticizing
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| Mr. Lecrae my momma sold me up the river for some rocks
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| And daddy told me I was nothing but a problem
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| Now here you come telling me I’m a low down dirty sinner
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| And you got the nerve to wonder why I’m in these streets robbing?
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| Well go and get Batman, and go get back man
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| I don’t need to be judged by you and all of your wack friends
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| Ain’t gluttony a sin? |
| Why you staring at my gin?
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| Where I’m from we don’t pretend
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| We know we ain’t getting in
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| Now the world don’t trust me
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| And these streets done crushed me
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| Thought you were known for love but you just love to judge me
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| Truth is, ironically you need me around though
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| 'Cuz otherwise you got nobody else to look down on
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| Dear Mr. Christian, I know you’re on a mission
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| I know you say the answer to my problem is religion
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| I know I’m supposed to change the way I live and stop sinning
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| But I’d appreciate it if you take some time to listen
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| Dear Mr. Christian |