| Y’all know the prophecy, it’s biblical; | 
| «from hill to hill»
 | 
| In between Beacon and Capitol I travel at will
 | 
| Atop the mount of Crown, send down the edict for the Sea to achieve peace
 | 
| The townspeople read it and weep
 | 
| We meet in the streets, a foray of glory and hype
 | 
| Recitin' stories and arias of warrior types
 | 
| An army of light — recreate the Normandy site
 | 
| Deploy, you appreciate the enormity, right?
 | 
| This battle hymn of the republic will knock for all my soldiers
 | 
| The block, that’s where we focus and plot to overthrow this
 | 
| Echelon, send a message to stop takin' our vote
 | 
| This has got to be a joke, ‘cause it’s not what we were told
 | 
| Is in the promissory note of the draft the forefathers had crafted
 | 
| Your fathers aint mine, boy — I’m a bastard
 | 
| I grasp a four-fifth in my palm, I got the right to bear arms
 | 
| Y’all keep pushin' me back, I’m ‘bout to blast it
 | 
| The creed is captured in the prose, my flow’s ominous
 | 
| And obviously the reason we rose to prominence
 | 
| We’re documenting history here, the end’s near
 | 
| The pen, bomb and grenade; | 
| the promenade of sincere
 | 
| My folks rush to grab it and mash at full thrust
 | 
| The first to have status and pull and hold a flush
 | 
| For control they go nuts, yo — we’re rollin' back to Cali
 | 
| Revivin' the rush for the gold dust
 | 
| CHORUS 1:
 | 
| Yo we crush the precious metal to dust for distribution
 | 
| All you gotta do is breathe to receive the restitution
 | 
| Under pressure we become both gems and grown men
 | 
| It’s like a jungle sometimes — wonder why I was thrown in
 | 
| When my instincts seem to do more harm than good
 | 
| It’s difficult to defend against steel armed with wood
 | 
| Maybe I was never meant to be a champion
 | 
| I’m standin' downstream pannin' for ambition to hand in
 | 
| Necessity was the mother of the invention of my character
 | 
| The neighborhood good Samaritan holdin' a Derringer
 | 
| And darin' you to thwart my path or try stoppin'
 | 
| The establishment of armistice, this is the dichotomy
 | 
| I gotta see the reconciliation take place
 | 
| My offering for the intercession is burnt sage and a Smith & Wesson
 | 
| I’m guessin' God really needs neither
 | 
| But I must if I’m entrusted as my brother’s keeper
 | 
| The challenge is discerning fam from adversaries
 | 
| They move in similar fashion — a real man carries a
 | 
| Heavier load; | 
| shoulders and back bowed
 | 
| The observation is in the simple conversation you hold
 | 
| Now look me in the eye and tell me I’m not worthy of favor
 | 
| The crop would never pay you if not for all our labor
 | 
| We’re the spine, twisted to sign dots along the waiver
 | 
| It’s hot where you gon' stay, I pray God will be your savior
 | 
| When the fires of propitiation reach the plantation
 | 
| Thirty lashes in the dirty ashes layin' the abatement
 | 
| I’m afraid of laughing, ‘cause shortly after I’ll be facin' the wrath
 | 
| I ask for mercy though I’m purposely impassioned
 | 
| And I’m certain the infraction’s a forgivable offense
 | 
| When the true lord of this land would never quibble over rent
 | 
| Wealth proffiteth no man in his last days
 | 
| These flames will show you what you’re made of… dust
 | 
| CHORUS 2:
 | 
| Yo the dust I was born from is this type, this insight is
 | 
| Helping me to get right, and I need assistance at times
 | 
| Be the admission disguised behind a pseudonym
 | 
| I hope to find truth in him before these guys do him in
 | 
| And what’s a legacy worth next to mined metal, yo
 | 
| Measure me first — depression, it’s better we work
 | 
| For change, not for pennies, if anything the commodity traded is us
 | 
| For flakes of gold dust. |