Verse I
It’s like here it, here it comes...
The Midwest...
You get blessed where I’m from
A different drum
But you can feel it when you hear it, here it comes
Generations for some, Attila Hun
My lyrics recorded we hung, in the studio
Sample twelves, forty five, like a quarter to one
Split the pie four ways, that’s a quarter to one
My cousin’s rapped for fun, had a corner to run

We would run to the corner store, hard to stop
Them older heads took our money, brought our liquor to the parking lot
We gettin’ faded like the barbershop
Cops barely missed me, barely sixteen, barely five o’clock
So much time in a rebels day
Somebody said the idle mind is a house where the devils play
We on our own shit, never fuck with them other cats
This how the pots, and the kettle’s call each other black
In Pontiac


Verse II
A part of me, it’s hard to leave, like a tree in winter
A line between sweet and bitter, being free or prison
Difference between street beef, and what you eat for dinner
I’m somewhere between the Silverdome and Phoenix center
Searching my mind...
Seek and you will certainly find, to earlier times
My step father working his nine to five
To overtime, sometimes
To provide some light
Behind curtains and blinds, we shine- Yo
Yesterday used to be tomorrow
Let’s take it backwards, I paint the canvas, like i’m Leonardo
Southern folks moved North, Industry was Auto
Now you could feed your household, whip an El Dorado
Pontiac was the place
General Motors employed mothers and aunts, fathers and uncles
The seventies paid’em of, then economy struggled
The eighties they laid’em off, now the poverty doubled
Tripled
Quadrupled
Thousands in trouble
Now it’s hard to find a good job, so we back on the hustle...
Credits