What a vicious cycle
I picture Michael poppin’ sleepin’ aids
Thinkin’, will I see success before I see my grave?
In my 20’s, but bear crosses like I’m Jesus’ age
In the hood like radiators, still I seem to get amazed
By crack spots, bumpin’
Bumpy-face pre-teens
Kids with street dreams and empty key-rings
Benz dreamin’, but they’re bus-catchin’
Poppin’ E big as Excedrins
Section 8 apartments feel like Department of Corrections
It’s heartless in my section
Where they’ll take your life before they take the SATs
Where bein’ fatherless seem destined, parents hardly in sync
Daddy split quicker than Justin
Made it kinda hard to get adjusted, but fuck it
Hard to get your respect if your shots ain’t nothin’ but net
And your pops ain’t like Uncle Phil
And your grandma strugglin’ with stress
And your house full as Uncle Jesse
And society suggests
That fully loaded TECs could get your people outta debt
Slow down, baby, I’ve been there
I’ve been counted out before Lil Romeo had chin hair
Been a woman of my house, my daddy disappeared in thin air
Mama on the couch, throwin’ up, had me quickly pourin’ up
Growin’ up, see…
I lost my innocence seein’ crack on my premises
Livin’ like primitives, been this way since my genesis
Mama pawnin’ my Genesis, sellin’ government benefits
In a country where opportunities limited
School, hard to be interested in algebra and formulatin’ sentences
When kids disappearin’ by the increments
So instead of sittin’ in class with a Texas Instrument
Young n***as pitchin’ them bags whiter than Eminem
Who gonna mentor when daddy hardly remember them?
Movin’ weight, up late like Jimmy Fallon and Kimmel, them
Pushin’ keys like Timbaland, debt seemin’ so imminent
Tryna get a million and end up on a Gildan
Name spraypainted on a buildin’
Children, left without a father
I know the feelin’
Nobody that’ll tell you that you’re brilliant
Or take you to recital, so you study BET
And then TV to find an idol, what a vicious cycle
Tryna make it like Mike WiLL, no life skills
Sellin’ crack to pay them light bills
Police hate your guts, give a fuck how they might feel
‘Cause they can’t relate, they straight with some nice wheels
I was raised by reality shows instead of guardians
Life cold-hearted, pray to God, be a cardigan
Racial targetin’, and urban marketors pray
Young n***as off in the cage just to get a fork and a plate
‘Round my way