"When your spirit is strained and you limited to change
The lyrics in your limericks have changed
A different hook, the way the sentences arranged
More demented in your deliverance, more sinister in ya slang
Sounds more belligerent when its sang,
The truth...is limitless in it's range
If you, drop a "T" and look at it in reverse,
I could hurt, look at the grimaces of the pain
And its worse when it works, and ya membership is game
But you forgettin’ the proof, diminishes in the flames
Like poof, the media cause images in ya brain
Of the score of the war where militants is slain
The faces of the guilty where innocence is proclaimed
And they filthy, the death airs outta winners
The listeners outta lames...
Of the ballad of the man, that the son of a minister has became so."
Lupe Fiasco - Glory
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