Raindrops fall on painted tapestries
With yellow and greens and reds.
Painted like the illumination that colleges endure
To put money in their pockets and gold plated shoes on their feets.
Raising the future bankers of tomorrow
To create the next group of elites
No sorrows for the dead and dying
In the menagerie of different streets.
Painted by goya mixing red, whites and blacks
A chemical reaction from which there's no turning back
Suffering is peaked in hoods they can't paint their fences in
All because of arguing over an amount of melanin.
It's al$o about money
Gotta be holding or look funny
Dressed in the same clothes smeared with fry oil
A mess on a sun day; toil
I breath repression till my eyeballs broil
walking quilted tapestries on what used to be soil
And all the world watches from their crafted lawns
The people training these kings to be middle men pawns.
Your games fucked up, cuz
These ballers remember their bloods.
One nation, one spirit, one fury,
One love
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