More songs by Chance the Rapper
Description
Featured Artist: Rachel Robinson
Author: Chancelor Bennett, Dwayne Verner Jr., Dexter Coleman, Peter Wilkins, Nico Segal, Darryl Howell, Rachel Robinson
Producer: Dwayne Verner Jr., Peter CottonTale, Nico Segal, DEXLVL, Darryl "Lil Man" Howell
Composer: Chancelor Bennett, Dwayne Verner Jr., Dexter Coleman, Peter Wilkins, Nico Segal, Darryl Howell, Rachel Robinson
Lyrics and translation
Original
Dear Emerald Avenue Church of God, I hope this message reach you well.
I wrote this with a broken heart.
See, recently my Auntie Carolyn passed away and half the way to the funeral I realized that it's some shit that niggas just gon' have to say. You think you outlasted? That wasn't just my auntie in that casket.
You just buried KOK and Sunday school and classes.
The only saint you see on every Sunday, season passes. Somebody need they ass kicked.
Who told you your gossip could be louder than your shout?
Who told you to walk inside this house like it's your house? Who lied to you, told you I wouldn't have nothin' to say?
You think I won't. . . Man, don't even trip, I'm on the way.
I'm on my way, I'm on my way, I'm on my way. Be there soon. I'm on my way.
I'm on my way. I'm on my way.
I'm on my way.
Dear megachurch, I hope this letter finds you, for I do.
Fund a new buildin' to hide you. I'll still be behind you. Elaborate theatrics to blind you.
Nickel-and-dime you, but I knew. I've watched you worship idols, brand a Bible, sell it for double.
Brandish rifles, curse and libel. Withhold shelter from niggas for survival.
First ladies walkin' 'round with furs and titles.
Watch you spit in a man's face and call it God, but when it's really on, your dogma is Silent Bob.
You just take them government checks and smile and nod. I rebuke you in the name of the child of
God.
I boil a pot of living water 'til it's scalding hot and pour it on the altar of the false fallen gods. That means the church and the state.
I'm here to separate. Y'all think I'm finna play with any. . . Matter of fact, I'm on my way.
I'm on my way, I'm on my way, I'm on my way. Be there soon. I'm on my way.
I'm on my way.
I'm on my way. I'm on my way.
Dear black church, this is the real world.
Don't you forget about them four little girls killed in a church while they played in the nursery.
Four Sundays ago was their anniversary.
Jesus was a teacher, King was a preacher, Malcolm was a PK, and so was Aretha. I say a little prayer with my hand on my heater. You reach in and
I'm slayin' off your ear like I'm Peter.
Don't lay down now when you know that we at war. Don't lay down now when there's fire at your door.
Don't lay down now when you know that they should feel a noose. Knowin' it ain't shit to lynch a Dylann
Roof. Instead you let the killer loose and kick out folks that you can't handle.
Find more money, try to hide more scandals.
That light glow from the mob is not more candles. These is torches to burn it. . .
Matter of fact, you gon' see we on our way. We on our way. I'm on my way. I'm on my way. Be there soon. We on our way.
-I'm on my way. I'm on my way.
-Let these words be said in love and let the truth to set you free.
Let the log from out my eye set fire to the tree.
When the empire falls and the kingdom stands tall, let 'em all bend their knee.
Say one to them all.
Dear body, bruised and broke body.
Abused, confused, and soaked body.
The light of His eye, the love in His hands, the one that got His love in advance, the love of His life, the covenant stands, the body.
The nobodies, the ones that went back in search of more bodies.
The ones that placed coins and mourned and washed feet.
Ones that watched the little bodies that lost all heat. The body, His child, His pride, His joy.
If I have no words, my sword, my voice. I write to you with tattooed tears and heavy shoulders.
An angel with a hand on his hip, the gun holstered.
What is violence if not silence? So sling that rock and slay that giant.
Slow load that Glock, nigga, kill that tyrant. So sing that song, we sing that harmony.
A hum of a hymn, touch the hem of His garment. A young drummer boy did a stint in the army.
A rum-pa-pa-rum 'til the walls come crumblin'. Strung up on wood, but the Son comes in mornin'.
Dear body, protect the body. Who's all comin'? Just everybody.
Line those dots, connect everybody. Love, Chance. P. S.
Bless everybody
English translation
Dear Emerald Avenue Church of God, I hope this message reach you well.
I wrote this with a broken heart.
See, recently my Auntie Carolyn passed away and half the way to the funeral I realized that it's some shit that niggas just gon' have to say. You think you outlasted? That wasn't just my auntie in that casket.
You just buried KOK and Sunday school and classes.
The only saint you see on every Sunday, season passes. Somebody need they ass kicked.
Who told you your gossip could be louder than your shout?
Who told you to walk inside this house like it's your house? Who lied to you, told you I wouldn't have nothin' to say?
You think I won't. . . Man, don't even trip, I'm on the way.
I'm on my way, I'm on my way, I'm on my way. Be there soon. I'm on my way.
I'm on my way. I'm on my way.
I'm on my way.
Dear megachurch, I hope this letter finds you, for I do.
Fund a new buildin' to hide you. I'll still be behind you. Elaborate theatrics to blind you.
Nickel-and-dime you, but I knew. I've watched you worship idols, brand a Bible, sell it for double.
Brandish rifles, curse and libel. Withhold shelter from niggas for survival.
First ladies walkin' 'round with furs and titles.
Watch you spit in a man's face and call it God, but when it's really on, your dogma is Silent Bob.
You just take them government checks and smile and nod. I rebuke you in the name of the child of
God.
I boil a pot of living water 'til it's scalding hot and pour it on the altar of the false fallen gods. That means the church and the state.
I'm here to separate. Y'all think I'm finna play with any. . . Matter of fact, I'm on my way.
I'm on my way, I'm on my way, I'm on my way. Be there soon. I'm on my way.
I'm on my way.
I'm on my way. I'm on my way.
Dear black church, this is the real world.
Don't you forget about them four little girls killed in a church while they played in the nursery.
Four Sundays ago was their anniversary.
Jesus was a teacher, King was a preacher, Malcolm was a PK, and so was Aretha. I say a little prayer with my hand on my heater. You reach in and
I'm slayin' off your ear like I'm Peter.
Don't lay down now when you know that we at war. Don't lay down now when there's fire at your door.
Don't lay down now when you know that they should feel a noose. Knowin' it ain't shit to lynch a Dylann
Roof. Instead you let the killer loose and kick out folks that you can't handle.
Find more money, try to hide more scandals.
That light glow from the mob is not more candles. These is torches to burn it. . .
Matter of fact, you gon' see we on our way. We on our way. I'm on my way. I'm on my way. Be there soon. We on our way.
-I'm on my way. I'm on my way.
-Let these words be said in love and let the truth to set you free.
Let the log from out my eye set fire to the tree.
When the empire falls and the kingdom stands tall, let 'em all bend their knee.
Say one to them all.
Dear body, bruised and broke body.
Abused, confused, and soaked body.
The light of His eye, the love in His hands, the one that got His love in advance, the love of His life, the covenant stands, the body.
The nobodies, the ones that went back in search of more bodies.
The ones that placed coins and mourned and washed feet.
Ones that watched the little bodies that lost all heat. The body, His child, His pride, His joy.
If I have no words, my sword, my voice. I write to you with tattooed tears and heavy shoulders.
An angel with a hand on his hip, the gun holstered.
What is violence if not silence? So sling that rock and slay that giant.
Slow load that Glock, nigga, kill that tyrant. So sing that song, we sing that harmony.
A hum of a hymn, touch the hem of His garment. A young drummer boy did a stint in the army.
A rum-pa-pa-rum 'til the walls come crumblin'. Strung up on wood, but the Son comes in mornin'.
Dear body, protect the body. Who's all comin'? Just everybody.
Line those dots, connect everybody. Love, Chance. P. S.
Bless everybody