Lyrics Nothing's Sacred - CYNE

Nothing's Sacred

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