Two-thousand and seventeen master!
Every two-thousand years a prophecy is prophesied
To carry out the word of the shepherd into this cold world
What can make a mighty man run?
Make him drop his pride and hide?
Too black, too strong, wrong
You ain't so bad, nor big
White sheets make you sad
Hide nigga hide, flee nigga flee run nigga run
If I got my hood, my cross, my tree my gun