[Intro]
The riots in Los Angeles have written a sorrowful page in American history

[Verse 1]
This ain’t hip hop, this apocalypse
Velvet glove over the iron fist
Pulitzer Prize composer, accomplished ghetto novelist
Risk taker, Ye shrug, no consequence
This ain’t no consciousness, leave n***as unconscious quick
Nonresponsive, common sense say that the corners is bent
Stay cautious, a whip for 5 percent tint
On the other side of that window, in addition to extended clips
Plenty endo dip, enough to make a n***a flip
G rise, with teenagers high inside
With no license to drive, coincide with Gentile times
Modern day Babylon, the Great Harlot
Fornicated with the nations and gave birth to the garden
Circa 1956, they finished the bricks
Two year prior my grandmama left Mississip
Cause they was hanging n***as, burning n***as quick
Jim Crow laws got too thick, she called it quits
(What a transition from Jim Crow, South
To projects, Nickerson Gardens)
Compton imperial housing development
Seemed like a great place for her to settle in
So she did, and her kids had kids
Fifteen years later her grandson helped start the Crips
That was Michael Concepcion, yeah my interconnections
Stuff of legends, street n***a heaven
We in the late 60s, early 70s
Eventually J. Edgar tried to ruin the black legacy
Infiltrated the Panthers, pumped drugs in our vicinity
We got high, and lost all sensibility
Ronald Reagan was Cali’s governer then
Ten years before Oliver North I ran contraband
Scam, that’s when the world first heard of Ross
Freeway Ricky got rid of weight quickly
Rewind back in the projects, n***as got busy
Seven n***as changed the course of n***as in history
A shotgun and Molotov, whole block was engulfed
There’s certain things I had to leave off
Bounty hunter Watts, firmly established
Harassing Wattstax and festivals
A sea of red rags, they would clash with reputable crip facets
And each direction had em surrounded
Concrete assassins, the bucket of blood, no leader amongst thugs
Bottom feeders and scrubs is all but one slug away
From being enlisted in the pantheon on the street, graced
Then the 80s came and introduced crack cocaine
To the vein, the south central poked pain
In the air, atmosphere exploded
Like nuclear radiation every hood corroded
From variations of rock, and early rap exposed it
You get the message
That’s a triple entendre wrapped in a metaphor for the labor pains felt by my mama

[Outro]
So it’s like, your family’s history
And the streets birthed you
Gave birth to who you are
Projects, crack 80s, streets, the hustles
It’s all in your blood man
Where’s the story?
This is your view from the project window
Your project window