In a haze these days, I pull up to the stop light,
I can feel that something's not right.
I can feel that someone's blasting me with hate,
And bass, sending dirty vibes my way.
Cause my Great, Great, Great, Great, Grandad,
Made someone's Great, Great, Great, Great Grandaddies slaves.
It wasn't my idea, it wasn't my idea, never was my idea.
I just drove to the store for some Preparation-H.