キー: C major•
Verse 1
tryna survive with this
Workin' the 9 to 5, the 9 to 5 anonymous
The problem was the cute attraction
to a drama was
To Donna's crib would fit the hand
against some parlor mails
Sometimes I wish my daddy
knew about a condom den
The time we'd spin the corners,
I was trying to find a pen
Trying to perfect my craft
adjacent to the money on ads
Niggas laughed,
now they papers are plaid
Stick to them raps, war stories
from my homies, gory on tour
My auntie call me Pratt and Corey,
now the streets applaud me
Sorry, I ain't got time,
I'm raising youngsters
Zeke heard the narration
to bring the place a seed in dumpsters
Then was the summer,
something got in us,
we turned to sinners
Never seen Santa till Kumo
D rapping Christmas image
Beat the streets, I made it,
1 ,000 weeks, I waited
You know, you know,
I'm a hood graduated
Shootin' the hood, the trap,
the block,
no matter what you callin' it
The politics of power
is to keep us powerless
To beat the belly more
than ready to devour us
Pick up a gavel, uh,
spit out a swallow, us
Come take a ride with us,
corner to corner, one
Ghetto to ghetto, backyard to yard
And you know, you know, it just is what it is
I got these four corners in my mind
Picture any ghetto U .S .A. you'll find
Yang in the yang, it's hard to explain
How one corner there's a gun shop
Right across from the Sunday
church bells
Third corner they roll
L's in front of the liquor store
The fourth corner with small kids
Looking out the gate at recess
At excess life inhalation
Swallow the whole scene,
seek ventilation
Tryna breathe through the situation
how do we turn fine wine from
moldy grapes
a hopeless place into a hopeful
state
from indignation to yes we can chance
destiny grants escapisms
from mental states
where we await prisons
the drama make living barely bearable
young kids seek knowledge
if you available
none comparable to ghetto love
married to pain with this ring i wear the
alleyways engaged
The window panes upset at
the coulda -wouldas
The hooded brothers I grew up with
and knew they mothers
Now they thugs fucked up
for every tragedy
This a success story, reality is bug
Street tales, ghetto love
Shit, the hood, the track, the block
No matter what you callin' it
The politics of power is
to keep us powerless
The beast are barely more
than ready to devour us
Pick up and gobble up,
spit out or swallow us
take a ride with us,
corner to corner, one
Ghetto to ghetto, backyard to yard
And you know, you know,
it just is what it is
You know, you know,
it just is what it is
C'mon, I do this for the hood,
I'm one of y 'all
If it's drama,
know that I'm not runnin' off
With my mama, I'm in Raleigh,
Carolina with a llama
Try to run up with the hood,
but one of y 'all
And my grandmother, she said a loud mouth
Or put a soft butt in trouble,
quit runnin' yards
Can't stop it in the nurse,
keep runnin' guards
Meanwhile, we runnin', we runnin' ball
We runnin' track, swervin' with nerd
And we do it all while twerkin' the mat
D. Sean Jack, bring the ball back, 80 yards
I am Billy Free
and I don't care who Shorty is
Shorty try me 40 or he break Shorty off
Don't shorty know, I've been the OG
Don't make me make
the boys in the hood
take shorty raw
She the the drag, the black
No matter what you callin' it
The politics of how it is
to keep us powerless
Deplete the belly more
than ready to devour us
Pick up a guy with us,
spit out or swallow us
Come take a ride with us,
corner to corner one
Ghetto to ghetto,
backyard to yard
And you know, you know,
it just is what it is
You know, you know,
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