Yatch Sub II

Bankrolled by the Most High.
Tears fall, but I don’t cry.
When I fold, peep my preach count—
Made the most of a wrong route.
On the Good News, trotting;
Human wisdom’s nothing.
What is fame when those who remember
Won’t live forever?
Far above the struggling,
So blessed, it’s humbling.
Too much shalom to be bothering—
I’m anxious for nothing.

Mmmmm.
I want my fame in my Jesus forever.
Jesus baby.
Oh yes, I’m a Jesus tata.

Some have doctors, some have pills;
We lay hands and folks get healed.
Text to Life—we do not trust news.
Our videos hunt souls, not views.
Some blame faith on the place of birth;
Well, I am born again.
Some say we all need help from the ancestors—
I kneel to a different reign.

Mmmmm.
I want my fame in my Jesus forever.
Jesus baby.
Oh yes, I’m a Jesus tata.

Even in death, I am fruitful.
I have been harboring truth, though.
I Noah above all the culture;
Even at ease, Jesus has all my attention.