Lyrics:

Sun, up down
On the corner, up town
I turn around and hear the sound
A voice is talking about who's gonna die next
Cause the White Man's got a God complex

Silent niggas scream for help 'Aah!! Help me! Help me!'
Nigga, make your own help, shit, you need it
I turn around and hear the sound of jukeboxes playing in bars
Pimps parked outside in big pretty Cadillac cars
Cleaner than a broke-dick dog, sitting in a big fine hog
Dressed very fine in a mohair silk vine
But Jim Dale'll die next
Cause the White Man's got a God complex

Hey brother, what's your sport, my man?
I got just the thing for you, only costs ten and two
What you gonna do, baby?
I got black ones, brown ones, red ones, yellow ones
I even got a white one if you wanna buy some
Yeah, that's right
2-50-8, play it straight, I got it all worked out
You know what I'm talking about
Been reading my dream book
Ain't no way in the world a kid gon' get took
Nigga, what you mean I didn't hit? Nigga, you full of shit
Lick dice, uh, now seven
C'mon be nice and hit eleven
Well what do you know, it's Little Joe
Hey my man, got twenty dollars say
Little Joe don't blow
Ha, baby needs a pair of shoes
Ah, papa's got the funky blues
Ah, mama plays the crossword in the news
Snake eyes... Sorry, nigga, you lose
The line forms to the rear, lady
And I don't care if you never cash your welfare checks
Cause the White Man's got a God complex

'But I got ten babies, I ain't got no man
I ain't got no choice but to hold out my hand
And feed my young ones the best way I can'
'Hey man, what you mean no doubles on blackjack?
Punk, you better change that rule, 'cause I ain't no fool'
You better be cool, Jim, or you'll die next
Cause the White Man's got a God complex

Hey, my man, uh, I wanna cop a nickel bag
You say all you got is skag
Wow that's a drag, cause uh
I don't wanna cop no dope
Is death next
Cause the White Man's got a God complex

Hey baby, where's the gig at tonight?
Well, there's one over at Slick's for faggots and tricks
There's one around graveyard's side of town that'll cost you a pound
But if you don't know what I know
You better pack your piece, at least, or you'll die next
Cause the White Man's got a God complex

Mr. Stein, I done paid enough rent for this pad to be mine
But you just want to cheat me 'cause I ain't your kind
Damn, can't you see the place is falling down?
No, you can't dig it 'cause you ain't never around
Damn, I'm so poor
I don't know what in the hell I'm gonna do any more
Not from this day to the next
Cause the White Man's got a God complex

I'm making guns! (I'm God! Oh, God!)
I'm making bombs! (I'm God!)
I'm making gas! (I'm God!)
I'm making freak machines! (I'm God!)
Birth control pills! (I'm God!)
Killed Indians who discovered him! (I'm God!)
Kill the Japanese with the A-bomb! (I'm God!)
Killed and still killing Black people! (I'm God!)
Enslaving the earth! (I'm God!)
Done went to the moon! (I'm God!)
I'm God! I'm God! I'm God! I'm God!
I'm God! I'm God! I'm God! I'm God!
I'm God! I'm God! I'm God!

Spelled backwards is dog!