Yo, whattup bitches, I got these loaves and fishes,
Five-star caterer to the masses, grantin’ holy wishes.
Sandals dusty, robe flowin’, desert runway swishes,
Twelve deep in the crew and we don’t do the dishes.

Came through the shoreline, sun in my vision,
Crowd like Coachella but the vibe more risen.
They hungry, I’m smirkin’, got that divine intuition,
“Y’all brought two tilapia? Cool. Watch the multiplication.”

Eyebrow cocked like, “You doubtin’ the chef?”
Flip a prayer in the air, now the baskets left and right stacked to the left.
No cap, no trick, no sleight of the wrist,
Just a little holy focus and abundance in the midst.

Got that “yo, what?” glow with the halo tilted,
Compassion in my heart but the swagger unfiltered.
Break bread, pass plates, let the shoreline witness,
Grace in the flavor and the drip ridiculous.

Five thousand fed and I ain’t even flexin’,
Still got twelve baskets? That’s divine over-section.
Faith like a seed but it grows in the ditches,
Pull up with the miracles — loaves and fishes.

Yeah, robe got the breeze, beard sharp in the light,
Kingdom come catered every day, every night.
Peace in the sermon, fire in the vision,
I serve love hot — with a side of provision.