[Hook]
Thought I told you, I'll never let you walk alone. 2x

[Verse 1]
Scene one, The opening shot
We pan across prostitution and crime
This view through the eyes of a child that seen 365 eight times
Pops is scared, the proverbial definition of this latchkey kid
His moms works _______ things to the bone
48 hours ___ us some she never at home
But she light that ass up, catch that ass lying
Honey in the water, grilled cheese with the iron
Screams with the sirens, the murder scenes
It seems his life ____ to one block, snares and the gun shots
Plays in the shadows, no need for sun block
Take the E to Queens last stop, you can come watch
He's intelligent, clever, however
Foot at the bed, bows his head, close his eyes, hands together
He prays, "Father, if you're truly the Father
No need to bother, where's my father?"

[Hook]
Thought I told you, I'll never let you walk alone. 2x

[Verse 2]
They lost everything they owned and a home to a fire
Moms got fired. Told em she retired
Subtitles read like: "7 years later"
Fast forward, past puberty, the smooth operator
On the block, where the gators got more love than haters
The youngest local pharmaceutical administrator
In the distance walks a young hot potato [Oooh shit.!]
Nah, nah, nah, for real, chill that's my moms!
Slide the work to his mans, slipped a 50 in the palm
Punched a n***a belly, stepped on his feet
Slammed the child on the hard concrete
Next thing, father moved from a prayer long forgotten
Food in the dumpster where his cell smells rotten
Get your hustle on, punch that clock in
Where the prostitutes patrol and the streets be watching
The father reveals himself to his son but is _____
[Hook]
Thought I told you, I'll never let you walk alone. 2x

[Verse 3]
Masterfully written. Ordained by God as a classical piece
Spit it passionately, mimics the clapping of heat
Over immaculate beats to capture the beast
Verses touch the youth like Catholic priests
Strong survivor, we catch hairline fractures at least
From a graphic depiction of rapping that's distractin' police
Fuck em! Let's go hard!
They track your whereabouts through E-ZPass MetroCards
Young Black Americans left so scarred
Just making it to 20 is a test so hard
But Lord, somehow, some way, if I can
I'll be the Soul Train in this American band stand
Your Discovery Channel in this world of man-tanning punks
Never fake the funk. Words travel in ----, bust side of your trunk
Like Lee Malvo, Muhammed. Fucking spit and I'ma vomit!