When you die,
I pray there’s a black sky,
Black Ushers to guide you to your seat.
In comes the Blackest angel to arrange your sentencing at the judge’s feet.
As you weep the hatred of Blacks you dusted up in life,
You may not sweep no white clouds,
Only black mystique.
Our hell is held here with every lie,
However your hell is actually the sky.
Klan understand if there is a heaven,
It is owned by a Black man.
The Cross is lost,
That along with everything else you gave meI s more than likely false.
That’s why I think outside my brain at every cost,
If my soul lost least you ain’t the boss.