Race Against the Machine

In my race against time I cant stop, struggling through the red lights. Traveling up and down Cypress Hill's with my tank on E, thinking God's not making sense to me. Chit chat in the bar's of rap that he's alright but he's not real. If so why doesn't God have a record deal?
I don't hear him spit on TV, never a Yo MTV, never seen him in the booth to spit the truth straight from the dome so it could hit home to all these so called writers or rapped up thoughts. We all go insane in the brain to try to explain the coordinates that were already plotted when we try to spit game that is over.

Our permission to use words is only through the expressed consent of God himself, but we use them in ways to increase our wealth, grind to hard and we lose our health. Check the meter we need a life line to stay in the game, and extra man to grind through the day to day.

Like Usain we work in an instant of a lightning bolt, when we blink our eyes. We truly need to lean on the Direct connect flight in our mind that will help us move fast like nextel and sprint like Nas car to remember that It Was Written. the flashing lights of the pictures in life aren't always the COPS, its the flicker of lights from Graduation of being saved by salvation.

This leads us to speed through the rounds of seasons of competition. Posting world record speeds in our actions of the steeple chase that happens, we scream out to the world we ready like Pastor Troy. We no longer wait on the yellow light, we carefully speed through the doubt, never yielding to temptation, knowing God never stops on red monthly like periods, or to end our life sentences of failures' excuses, worry, and separation.