Lyrics: Saul Williams. P.G..

[Saul Williams:]
Ain't from the streets of Compton
Ain't from no prison yard
Ain't got no guns or weapons
Hell, nigga, I ain't hard
I'd rather help than fight you
I'd rather hug than swing
I know where diamonds come from and ain't about to bling
Ain't got no fancy car, I can't afford my rent
Ain't even got my own style sometimes I'm 50 Cent
But I ain't got not bullets, and I ain't bullet proof
And you can take your aim, but you can't kill the truth
Ay, yo, untie that noose, son, we ain't free, we loose
I'm sleeping on the floor above your party's burning roof
And when that party's through, here's what you need to do
Just hold that mic right to your heart and hear the beat of you
I got a heart beat produced by God, and, boy, it sound hard
Got a heart beat produced by God, and, boy, it sound hard
Got a heart beat produced by God, and, boy, it sound hard
Got a heart beat produced by God, and, boy, it sound hard