I'm going broke and deeper in the ditch
buying self-help books on how to be happy and get rich quick.
The reality is that you can have your best life now
only to have your worst death later
because you can't take anything with you
unless it's favor from the Savior,
but few are feeling this flavor
since it leaves a bitterness in your belly.
And we try to swagger but instead stagger
like we're drunk quoting Nelly,
"Hey! It must be the money!"
We keep falling for the same joke,
and the sucker punchlines aren't funny
when CEO's and reality shows play us like gin rummy,
but Christ can call us out to douse beats fading in and out
with a cup of holy water from Run's House.
And ever since filling up pages in high school notebooks
and Trapper folders, my cup's been running over
until I'm now baptized up to my shoulders
with feelings, freestyles and Pharcyde hooks
because time keeps passin' me by,
but I can't keep runnin' away.
At the end of the day, it's about the Word of Yahweh
and not what the world may say.

circumstances circle over me like vultures
waiting to pick my flesh to the bones
under the heat of the dog-day sun

but simply speaking in the Spirit
gives skeletons their resurrection

they hang from worn mic cords
every time I open my closet

frozen while grinning over my past mistakes

the insults that I shouldn't have said
the fists that I came close to swinging
the responsibilities that I dumped to the side
when devils invited me to pity parties

thank God that He came
to hang out and eat with sinners

else I guarantee that my bones
would still be drying in a graveyard
sweltered with the breath of guilt