From faith, to fugees, to fantastic lyrics against abortion and the senseless
extermination of black babies under the guise of family values making slave prisons for
I know your heart, as it spoke to a young brotha with a baby on the way, with way too much
to say, tryin’ to save the world, but still got bills to pay, trying to save souls at the
expense of his own sanity, crushed by the weight of Christian vanity.
Yo, Maybe Rasta,
Claimin’ Jersey, 20 minutes down the road on Columbia Turnpike, actin with sistas and
singin’ with saints.
My wife wants you back, but yo, wherever you are, I know your content in the bliss of
knowing that you raged against this machine that crushes dreams and when called by God to
live out of fame, out of the hip hop game, and into the sane sounds of worship. YOU
Copyright © Woodrow Lucas