Lyrics

They called him Jesus—
Not meek, not mild—
But rebel flame and bastard child.
Born in a manger, not by chance,
But to spit in the face of Rome’s advance.
No throne, no gold, just grit and grime,
A ticking truthbomb in Palestine.
Yeah they called him Jesus
But he was no lamb.
He was the match in God’s clenched hand.
Born into filth, into empire’s claw,
Not to teach peace—but to break the law.
No silk-swaddled saint, no pale-skinned king
He came with fire beneath his wing.
He spoke in riddles, cut like blades,
Flipped tables clean in temple shades.
Not Sunday soft, not cradle tamed
He cursed the pious, called out names.
“Vipers! Hypocrites!” he cried,
While priests and kings just schemed and lied.
He didn’t come for praise or psalms,
But to slit the throat of Empire’s calm.
To spit in the eye of Roman pride,
And drag the truth where power hides.
He raised the dead, then dared them speak
And called the clergy wolves and weak.
He fed the poor, gave blind men sight,
While Empire bathed in blood and right.
He walked with whores, he broke the bread
With thieves and drunks the Church called dead.
He didn’t preach some neat salvation
He preached revolt, soul reclamation.
Jesus knew the cost of truth
He wore the weight like shattered youth.
He knew they’d twist his sacred call
Into a doctrine built to maul.
Knew they’d paint him white and weak,
Then sell his words through toothless speak.
He wasn’t “nice.”
He wasn’t tame.
He named the sickness, scorched the game.
He broke the bread and bent the rule,
Taught love like weapons, made hate look cruel.
He dined with whores, with lepers, thieves
And knew damn well what that believes.
They hung him up, not for our sin
But for the riot he lit within.
The Christ they sell in stained-glass scenes
Ain’t the man who stormed the Pharisees.
Not the one who broke the mold
But the threat that silver couldn’t hold.
His hands weren’t clasped, they were clenched in fight,
Dragging heaven through blinding night.
Each miracle, a loaded gun,
Each parable, a setting sun
On systems rigged, on Caesar’s rule
Jesus came to upend the fool.
They feared his tongue more than his hands
Because truth burns down the richest plans.
They feared his eyes, too wide, too deep
The kind that haunt you in your sleep.
He said “the meek shall own the land,”
While Rome just tightened iron bands.
He walked on water not for show,
But to mock the laws below.
He died not begging for reprieve,
But daring Pilate to believe.
They pierced his side, they crowned him thorn
And still, he laughed at power’s scorn.
They didn’t kill him for our sin.
They killed him ‘cause he wouldn’t bend.
Because he called their wealth a tomb,
And turned their temples into doom.
Because he saw through every guise,
And dragged their gods out by the lies.
So don’t reduce him to a charm,
Or hang him quiet on your arm.
He was revolt wrapped in bone,
A savage grace, a sacred stone.
He didn’t come to make peace with lies
He came to crack their disguise.
Call him Savior, call him threat