[Verse 1: Themba Ntaka]
My stigma self-induces the enigma
White hands examining the black hand's damages
As civil blood makes civil hands unclean
They was screaming Free Earl and forgot about Nadim
Thought I kept him in mind
Thoughts had kept me in line
Along with intuition when had stained my disposition
I keep a little something in my carry-on
4 square, cherry bomb
I want to blow up the New City
I read rappers like sheet music
Beat rappers like sheet music
And measure rappers like sheet music
Ergo, I'm the composer of the tune
I found the percs in reg
I want to do shrooms
Resourceful
I turned abundant from a morsel
Running through the No Man's Land like no man can
I'm global
From hobo hill to Chernobyl
They stand immobile and in the cross-hairs of getting totaled