From the forthcoming Joe Cyrus album, 'The Space Between Thoughts'
This is hip-hop, put your fuckin fists up
The money got funny, but buddy money won't be with us
When our death's up from punchin a clock
Just because somebody wondered where his money got dropped
It could be somebody runnin from cops
Or somebody runnin funny money, hustlin on blocks
A buddy letting all his honies suck off the top
Or a brother vesting all his money trustin in stocks
I'm not trustin any system where the person on top
Worships money as his personal god
I'm a person earnin earnest with a personal job
Pennin verses earning pennies when you purchase a song
My purpose burnin any person's memory is certain
When the urge to etch my legacy with energy is surgin
I purse my purty lips into a smirk and put my work in
When I'm learning bout my Self I'm earning wealth that mother Earth gives
This is hip-hop, put your fuckin fists up
The money hungry fuddy duddies runnin this can get popped
I ain't talking bout our buddies that rock
I'm talkin all these fucking money grubbers calling the shots
Once upon a time before somebody shot Pac
Somebody saw they could control the people bumping hip-hop
Pluggin guns and drugs and money up in all of the songs
Bumpin ugly misconceptions for the young that are wrong
I'm not trusting any money coming from a Murdock
Putting money in for social murder
Words are how I burn the burdens lurkin in my soul
Work a verse to turn a person's hurt into a workin mold
Where a learnin opportunity is fertile and can grow
In the virtue that accumulates when you reclaim your soul
Aim to break the mold, make mistakes and hold your own
Cause what's at stake's the human race and worth its weight in more than Gold
