Someday I'm gonna wake up with my pathos to race Hop out of bed, hop in my step, and slap the sun in the face Hopped up on hope, the hops and oats are closed and wrapped up on their case In case this happens, I'll be rapping fast and be clapping the bass The San Francisco's sky's flyin since I don't feel blue today I'll spit my game at fog and actively be mackin' the gray All [?] down the stairs excited while I'm racking my brain Can't put a damper on my mood, I love the hammering rain Someday I'll hit the streets, emerging happy, purging happy on the mic And on the table bumping cuts like funky surgeons might My lane is merging right, so when I signal wrong I take a breath And and chose a path that gets me through the sunrise from the night instead I'm heading to a vision that's been hidden in dark Where Rosa Parks and Carl Marx enjoy the treatment of stars Were breathing in bars, is needed then were reading too far Into barbaric clerical errors where terror is large Someday I'm gonna wake up with my pathos to race Hop out of bed, hop in my step, and slap the sun in the face Hopped up on hope, the hops and oats are closed and wrapped up on their case In case this happens, I'll be rapping fast and be clapping the bass The San Francisco's sky's flyin since I don't feel blue today I'll spit my game at fog and actively be mackin' the gray All [?] down the stairs excited while I'm racking my brain Can't put a damper on my mood, I love the hammering rain Yo, I'm tired of you saying congress is stacked You're making me laugh, thinking of the patriot act You're making an ass, of Nasa and I'm taking it back Instead of sending monkeys into space to taking a crack At being president, my sentiment is not to pen the penitent Yes men peddling the head nod etiquette Pez dispenser politicians get a better record in the matter of dispensing bread And butter to the masses I penned a letter to my senator, to let her know I'm ready for a bit of better Weather after cleansing and metaphor Closure is what I set it for, exposure is what I sent it for And those who bet on four more years, are who I meant it for A shedding of a [?] cover has begun, the second coming kind of failed so now we're back to one The burning bush is pushing papers, but his dad is done So when I wake up in the morning I'ma slap the sun