Fake chains and white Tee's,
pants hang low to our knees,
but we got to keep making this cheese,
So we surviving up our own community,
chop that crack,
sell that weed,
do it on the corner so the kids can see,
as if to say grow up and be like we,
quit high school no GED,
push on the block make a quick illegal G.
My paper is short,
my options thin,
I find myself,
back here again,
a looping road that has a hold on me,
but don't know if I really want to be free,
addicted to the pain of the game,
afflicted by the shame of cocaine.
In the hood we walk in herds,
throwing up the right sign,
making baby after baby but ain't none of them mine,
Now it's back to the block,
just to push another dime,
One hand supplies,
other hand on my 9,
it's obvious to see,
the life we lead,
leads to the penitentiary,
forgotten by friends and family,
making collect calls,
trading up squares for socks and draws.
Erykah Badu knew the other side of the game,
now my baby grew up and don't know my name,
like a rat in a lonesome cage,
here to rot till the end of days.
Heroine so good when she in that vein,
But when she left the problem still remains the same,
If hind’s sight was twenty twenty it was all in vain,
because she got me high and left me low,
and all my money seemed to go!
What a legacy to leave,
and I hope you grow to be,
Someone whose better than me!