Now hold up, I ain’t tryna stunt man. But these Yeezys jumped over the Jumpman. Went from the most hated, to the God Flow. I guess that’s only a feeling me and LeBron know. I’m livin’ 3 dreams: Biggie Smalls, Dr. King, Rodney Kings. ‘Cause we can’t get along, no resolution till we drown all these haters, rest in peace to Whitney Houston. Cars, money, girls and the clothes. All money, you sold your soul. Nah man, mad people was frontin’. God damn, we made somethin’ from nothin’! Picture working ya whole life, and it can’t cut through. That could mess up ya whole life like a uncle that touched you. What has the world come to? I’m from the 3-1-2, where cops don’t come through, and dreams don’t come through. Like “Where did God go?” in his Murciélago. Went from workin’ McDonald’s, barely paying the car note. Even got enough to get his momma a condo. People came, shot ‘em in front of his mom. 40 killings in the weekend, 40 killings in the week. Man the Summer too hot, you can feel it in the street. Welcome to Sunday service if you feel ya Sunday service. I got green in my eyes. Follow this Eric Sermon. Did Moses not part the water with the cane? Did Heavens not make an arc when I made it rain? Did Yeezy not get signed by Hov and Dame? And went to Jacob’s and made the new Jesus chains? In Jesus name, let the choir say. “I’m on fire ayy,” that’s what Richard Pryor say. And we annihilate anybody that violate. Ask any dopeboy you know, they admire Ye