Angels

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The angels lookin' down on us/got somethin' to say,/plus they don't like whatever it is plaguing our earth's crust./It's killin' us like radioactive dust./Suffocatin' our lungs and the cusses comin' out of our tongues./So they're gonna send a letter,/make it better, make it good./They'll teach us how to get outta the hood/ better than any college degree could./Because I know, that anybody rich in heaven/ain't from the slums./Heaven got its own ghetto, but it's better than the crumbs we came from.





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