Devil Playing God
You will despise me
A disregard of all safety
Points the hand of misplaced hate
And how can you swim
While laden with your sins
And all these faces in the void
Point back at you with weighted hands
We're not the ones who drew that thin blue line
Up in the sand Mother fucker
Wash your hands with the tears of the mothers
Who's sons you ripped from them
Leave 'em to the will of the vultures
Who never hesitate to binge on the feast
What a story
Another black man dead in the streets
What you make of that?
Did he have something in his bag?
Was he pullin back?
Maybe talkin smack?
Had a ghat?
Wasn't layin flat?
What are we calling Justice
When the convictions based on luck of the draw
The cards you were dealt destabilized
But the dealers prisons are privatized
Fuck
Choking on her teeth
Lady liberty
Curb stomped in the street
Clean our history
Wash it like the money that is passed under the table
Pay a priest to pray
The only 25-life you'll get is a 401K
Fighting a gun with a pen
Writing again and again
What a redundant attempt at a mean to an end
One thing you cannot amend
Is the burden of the hunger
Plaguing the pigs
Their appetency for power
They've grown the taste for blood
The slop of peace is sour
Devour to the bone
Devil playing god
The wolves don't wear sheep's clothes
They lick chops in public with teeth shown
Miles above the law
Look down with dissonance
Instilled with omnipotence
You've given in
You will see our faces in the eyes of your children
Make homes in the corner of your mind
You will despise me
A disregard of all safety
Points the hand of misplaced hate
And how can you swim
While laden with your sins
And all these faces in the void
Point back at you with weighted hands
We're not the ones who drew that thin blue line
Up in the sand Mother fucker
A disregard of all safety
Points the hand of misplaced hate
And how can you swim
While laden with your sins
And all these faces in the void
Point back at you with weighted hands
We're not the ones who drew that thin blue line
Up in the sand Mother fucker
Wash your hands with the tears of the mothers
Who's sons you ripped from them
Leave 'em to the will of the vultures
Who never hesitate to binge on the feast
What a story
Another black man dead in the streets
What you make of that?
Did he have something in his bag?
Was he pullin back?
Maybe talkin smack?
Had a ghat?
Wasn't layin flat?
What are we calling Justice
When the convictions based on luck of the draw
The cards you were dealt destabilized
But the dealers prisons are privatized
Fuck
Choking on her teeth
Lady liberty
Curb stomped in the street
Clean our history
Wash it like the money that is passed under the table
Pay a priest to pray
The only 25-life you'll get is a 401K
Fighting a gun with a pen
Writing again and again
What a redundant attempt at a mean to an end
One thing you cannot amend
Is the burden of the hunger
Plaguing the pigs
Their appetency for power
They've grown the taste for blood
The slop of peace is sour
Devour to the bone
Devil playing god
The wolves don't wear sheep's clothes
They lick chops in public with teeth shown
Miles above the law
Look down with dissonance
Instilled with omnipotence
You've given in
You will see our faces in the eyes of your children
Make homes in the corner of your mind
You will despise me
A disregard of all safety
Points the hand of misplaced hate
And how can you swim
While laden with your sins
And all these faces in the void
Point back at you with weighted hands
We're not the ones who drew that thin blue line
Up in the sand Mother fucker
Credits
Writer(s): Benjamin Adam Thomas Larson, Brockton Michael Reddish
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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