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I was born in New Orleans
On Whitney slash Lawrence street
Walking through the Fischer with no shoes
Around that way we call that project feet
Stuck in one spot the lights off
Sweat dripping down it's 102 degrees
Starin out a cracked window
Cause that box fan feel cool to me
Cut on the tv
Flippin' through channels
No cable
So I'm on station 3
And all I see
Is murder
So guess what's not new to me
Mixin in with this Gray America
Got me seein' things I shoulda never seen
American Dream
For a Black kid in a Black hood
That's make believe
It all revolves around what grows on the tippy top a the them trees
Some women get desperate for it that's an easy way to stain knees
Seein my momma go without cause she sacrificing for me
That's when we learned about handouts what's a hand out
Ha Deez
Not saying that's what my momma went through
But some women gotta deal with that
Complaining bout yo figure baby girl
Some women pay bills with that
Hate yo life
Well think about them babies in Ethiopia that gotta live with that
Goin numb to the pain
This world got me going insane

I'm
Born up in a place
Where I'm judge by race
RIP Across so many shirts
That's 2 or 3 a day
Blacks on Blacks happens so often
Nigas think that shits ok
Glad I made it up out the hood
But that's still where my people stay so I
Do this shit for my city bitch
Do this shit for my city
Ha
Do this shit for my city bitch
Do this shit for my city
I
Do this shit for city bitch
Do this shit for my people
Do this shit for my city bitch
Do this shit for my hood
I'm going home