1st Verse:
Dream this a King speech,
Kareem Abdul Jabbar reach, born sinner.
Cesarean birth, etherean light bender.
The meek shall inherit the earth I carried it first,
that God of brimstone you kneel and pray to.
I was there, when he was heir to the throne.
Got his big bang on, theories change.
I’m able to get my Caine own.
Kill a track in a hoodie like Trayvon, go beyond.
Normal brain capacity I’m outta my mind,
but it's, designed like Einstein,
I went back to the future and left mine behind.
I'm arsenic with rhyme, Jimi Hendrix,
with a guitar pick, purple hazin’.
Pandemonium from the podium when the pendulum swings.
I betta not hear a pen drop.

Chorus:
I watch the day light, fade into night.
West Coast nigga all my life.
But I let my mind travel, light years away,
Just another day on the Eastside (right!)

Monologue 1:
What they know about that Watts Super Bowl, man?
Locke and Jordan, we needed an escort to get to that muthafucka man! (Ha-Ha right!)

2nd Verse:
Here to the dethrone the big dogs, fallin’ of Rome.
Snatch your empire, twist like a gymnast.
Lyrical composer, street novelist.
Spit fire like Godzilla, feel the will of,
God when I spit with the zeal of a prophet,
Prodigal son returns.
I'm hungry, not for a meal.
Give me the recipe as long as the canopy,
of rap is covered, I love the energy.
Deliver God the best the world can have the rest of me,
it's etched in deep, I'm the vessel.
My rap drives the vehicle, black lives matter.
Plant life and animals, pain is unavoidable.
Keep it minimal, simply enjoy the view,
watch my attitude don't move like these haters do,
taught by the realest dudes play by your own rules.

Chorus

Monologue 2:
They don’t know nothin’ about dem Will Rogers Park free lunches.
Fuck that Ted Watkins shit, man!
They don’t know nothin’ about the Black tamale man on Avalon! (Word!)

3rd Verse:
I'm own that God shit you got to kill me to stop it,
or jump out the cockpit.
I'm committed to the flight not that plane old rap.
Rocket out of sight, bent off that vodka,
I'm a beast like Chewbacca.
But I'm broke, like my Locke high locker, they hit my man!
Cliff with a chopper,
but you can’t kill God on the Eastside block, we get up and walk.
Surrounded by wise men like Jesus in a manger.
Fuck what they talk about watch their behavior,
old Fantasia’s American Idols.
Prod ‘em in line with, Hillary Rodham.
If not give ‘em sodomy, they love to fuck.
And be entertained hear the pain in my language,
tryin’ to wake niggas up.
Can't duck the truth when it’s hundred proof runnin’ through your molecules.

Chorus

Monologue 3:
What’s up Big Cliff? Shit, I feel you baby! They can’t kill God, baby! We get up and walk!
What’s up Payback? Shit, we grew up on dem cul de sacs in Watts, shit! Ain’t nowhere else to go but up from there, right? Shit! We’re doin’ good baby! We ain’t in the grave or in dem jails. What’s up Brotha Blink? O Tha Reel One! San Brown! Skin Deep, where you at? Shit, I feel the spirit of Chris Small in this muthafucka, man! I know you’re watchin’! Black Drop! Eastside! Shit, we’re here! Let’s get this shit!