They said grace too wild, too raw, too free, Said it don’t fit theology. Said, “It ain’t fair, look who He frees!” But that’s the scandal — it had to be. He ain’t come for the righteous, He came for the lost, Not the polished, the bruised, the crossed. Religion can’t stand what mercy cost, They want control — but He paid the cost. See, scandal ain’t sin, it’s favor untamed, He gave crowns to the ones unnamed. They can’t stand how grace reclaimed The thief, the liar, the unashamed. You preach grace — they call you weak, They crave revenge, God kissed the meek. They want thrones — He washed their feet, That’s why grace got them on repeat. They said, “Grace too soft, it lets men slide,” But grace got nails and blood applied. It don’t excuse — it crucified, It don’t permit — it sanctified. Law said “earn,” grace said “done,” Law said “prove,” grace said “Son.” Religion said “try,” but love said “run,” Now my soul rests — war undone. Grace don’t play by rules they made, It breaks the system self-display. You can’t brand grace or make it trade, It kills your ego, not your faith. The scandal is — it loves your foe, Gives them peace you think they owe. Forgives the one who hurt you slow, Grace says “stay,” flesh says “go.” They said, “Grace can’t reach that far,” But He bled for every scar. They said, “Don’t preach grace, it’ll lower the bar,” But grace don’t lower — it heals who you are. Religion hates what grace reveals, That no man boasts, no flesh conceals. You can’t earn joy through righteous deals, Grace is mercy with nail-pierced seals. Yo, grace offends ‘cause it don’t compare, It gives the beggar the same share. The faithful and fallen breathe the same air, That’s kingdom math — not fair, but fair. He gave the vineyard pay at dawn, Same for the ones that came at morn. Religion cried “unjust, be gone!” Grace said, “My will — not yours — was born.” It’s scandalous ‘cause it frees the fraud, The backslider, the sinner flawed. It shakes the proud, humbles the awed, It’s mercy in motion — the rhythm of God. It gives the crown to the prodigal’s head, And leaves the elder’s pride for dead. It kills the scoreboard — tears the thread, Grace ain’t earned — it’s Spirit-fed. They hate it ‘cause it makes us one, The same blood covers every son. You can’t rank saints when grace begun, The ground’s level under the Son. It don’t matter who preached or fell, Grace pulled both out of hell. It don’t care your holy shell, Grace reclaims where pride rebelled. So yeah — call it scandal, call it wrong, But grace been singing the truest song. It breaks your self, makes weak men strong, It flips the tables we’ve sat on long. Grace ain’t nice — it’s dangerous truth, It don’t coddle sin — it kills the proof. It don’t build ego — it rebuilds youth, It’s mercy’s fire — holy and uncouth. Let ‘em talk — they can’t erase, What heaven sealed with mercy’s face. Grace ain’t cheap — it’s blood in place, The Lamb’s own trade — our death erased. So if you think it’s scandal still, Then maybe grace ain’t hit you real. ‘Cause when it does, you drop your will, And every wound begins to heal.
