VERSE 1

When I say I’m an heir of a King
I don’t mean a man with a big chair wearing a bunch of shiny rings
talking big and declaring things
Guess I’m used to royalty with more clout than that
My King is in the major leagues, yours is swinging a whiffle bat
When I say I serve a Lord and Savior
I’m not talking heroes.
'Cause every hero I see suffers, thinking they’re a zero,
With zero confidence/ My Lord is sure of who he is
Stripped himself of glory, still had crowds singing Hosanna chants
And that’s not ego, My God owns a thousand hills
And He’s not emo though he frequents dark places to give light
Not eco/ He’s run the whole world on His right hand, on fleek though
But you don’t do him justice with your pretty pictures of
blonde, haired blue eyed, hippies reading the scriptures
Death defeated, Sin defying, resurrected Christ
Better recognize the Maker of your fragile life


VERSE 2

-God’s made/
Sitting on a throne/
Cup the whole reality like you a mug of joe/ legs open/
The real estate stolen by his robe alone displaces normal modes of space on its own/
Go toe to toe with Everest/ battle the mount/
at the peak believe your best conquest was God’s ottoman chest/ chillin/
With the feet up on the mega-verse/
Wears no chain, sin was beaten with the virgin birth/
And the death, and the cracking its head/
When he rose from the tomb and said we best break bread and remember/
--Big shot, made his own realm/ made another underneath it
that’s the one we smell/
Heaven’s highest level was created in a bakery/
Confectionery taste from convection made rays/
He paid for unsavory ways in dark places/
We see the mystery that he lives to intercede for me/

Me: a soul so foul/
Blessed be the Name of the God-man crowned/
Hollow, drinking from the muddy gully with the sow/
Then Jesus tore his heart from the God head, frowned,
And ground down the son of perdition into a mound/
Bound to the round planet ‘til he’s not around/
Indignant/ peeled flesh did the hard work/
Murdering the murderous one with blood spurts/
it’s sealed, done, dinner’s in the oven/
Children have to wait and not complain until its golden, browned/
Just be patient for the sound/
Horns make way in a round, for the renowned
Holier than thou to astound
Profound/ Yaweh minus all of the vowels/ part clouds
Raise brows/ whole crowds mourn, shout aloud/
Recoup the people once down now found/