lirik lagu charles hamilton - popping god's collar
at (s), charles hamilton, jr
at (e), jack splash – i won’t reveal your middle name
at (g) george m-ssa – i see you, antoinette
time to do it like the (a)…
my suicidal ways been moving out the way. the brewing, i can say anything. as long as i can stir it like a witch. permanent psychic sh-t. word that i can spit is gospel like. except when i got the mic i’m the gothic type. god exists or i’m a queer. said that quite clear, my baby mama. clear indeed, but queer is taking over this heresy. god, forgive me for my h-m-s-xual acts. pretty much all i ask for. let me get an axe, i’ll chop a cat with a gl-ss jaw. and not have to come back after all. i don’t need no adderall. just mad at the wall, while them cats want to brawl
my problem is i don’t believe in god
how can i believe in god?
my number ain’t odd, why believe in god?
so, do you believe in god?
language got me spanking n-gg-s who be copying me like they’re gotti’s. and i ain’t talking about my n-gg- john, or my n-gg- john. just them n-gg-s on the island who watch me, watch harlem world, watch b-k, watch queens and say, “i gotta be like these people.” those people… the b-x know, saying those people are so evil. and they’re righteous with guns. so they are the righteous ones. rotten pieces like a white chick’s baby father when he didn’t write his thesis. maybe honor is just denying the secret that god is my baby mama. and i ain’t in people. and i am the evil-est. except when i get tested, then i become the feeblest
my problem is i don’t believe in god
how can i believe in god?
my number ain’t odd, why believe in god?
so, do you believe in god?
god, i can’t deny my 6 any longer. people who have apples are saying “sticks!” and the song is over. so the word that you’re giving me inside has to be a prophesy. of which i can prophe-psy and say, “it’s out of my mind, today.” because of my indiscriminative ways. the ‘i’ in indiscriminative, but i should give a sh-t when it’s time to give it to the him who’s been eyeing my eyes, and saying when i’m in a rhythm i’m getting it in. my god, i’m speaking in tongues again. must be the wine i wish to sip. and if i dine as a 6, would i be making your cry and ball up a fist to say, “this guys is no longer in this sh-t.” you walls. christianity, masonic. either way, it’s me
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