Inner Cities (feat. Seuss Mace)
What must I do to begin to let you know that
I'm not the one you can fake on
I'm in the studio cooking daily
I'm a lyrical chef like Raekwon
Watching the ghetto through eye boogers
Mama sent me to the store to buy sugar
Hopped up inside of my converse
And I hit the block like a fine hooker
On the way I heard a gun singing
With a man screaming in the background
Where I'm from even if you run track
You are not exempt from the track down
Loving words over cold caskets
Too familiar and it's so tragic
Trying to change for the better
But steadily getting haunted by my old habits
Voice muffled in economy class
Poison the reign/rain of things clear
Through the poor people who speak truth
Because in the rich heart it strikes fear
And I drop my tears frequent
Knowing it's supposed to replicate semen
I'm going to keep it keep it
Only inside, the external
Better confined in a journal
They manipulate the vulnerability
Killing any shred of hope you possess
Poverty stricken and I'm thinking about
Just handing the devil my soul to molest
Because I know when I'm next
Everyone (keep) saying I'm next
What they don't see is the stress
But I'm making a way
Took a trip to the inner city
Saw a old homie said he spun the block
Took a step or two away from him
Looked him in eye's didn't see a lot
Couldn't save his soul
All he saw was opps
Such a big fish on little dock
Is gonna stop
Does it ever really stop
Met a lady through socializing she got paid shows to artists she provides them
There are three doors in hip hop and ones a closet
You could sellout and sell records
You could stick to yah guns stay indie or no progress
Gone with the wind
Each song brings a win
May not know'em til collaboration but when in rotation we acquaint through tax
Music can bring a message hope the melody help a heathen through the parallax
In the studio send a invoice for raps
Rip to Coolio paradise on the the map
For a gangsta who tryna feed the ones love make appearances in the club and roll with thugs
The epitome of what one thought he really was
Only speaking on his experience with the drugs
At a young age saw a body for the first time
Side the crib cops came sprayed lines
Momma figured everyone be fine
The irony of it is she had moved us far away from the philly streets
City to suburbs van or jeep
Find a way tryna make ends meet
There was not one thing that we did not have that my mother would know we need
Been using the memories as batteries
And the baggage leaves
Put it out of site and out of mind it loop gets back to
I let the passion bleed
Took a trip to the inner city
Saw a old homie said he spun the block
Took a step or two away from him
Looked him in eye's didn't see a lot
Couldn't save his soul
All he saw was opps
Such a big fish on little dock
Is gonna stop
Does it ever really stop
Took a trip to the inner city
Saw a old homie said he spun the block
Took a step or two away from him
Looked him in eye's didn't see a lot
Couldn't save his soul
All he saw was opps
Such a big fish on little dock
Is gonna stop
Does it ever really stop
Lyrical chef like Raekwon
Mama figured everyone will be fine
Lyrical chef like Raekwon
Mama figured everyone will be fine
I'm not the one you can fake on
I'm in the studio cooking daily
I'm a lyrical chef like Raekwon
Watching the ghetto through eye boogers
Mama sent me to the store to buy sugar
Hopped up inside of my converse
And I hit the block like a fine hooker
On the way I heard a gun singing
With a man screaming in the background
Where I'm from even if you run track
You are not exempt from the track down
Loving words over cold caskets
Too familiar and it's so tragic
Trying to change for the better
But steadily getting haunted by my old habits
Voice muffled in economy class
Poison the reign/rain of things clear
Through the poor people who speak truth
Because in the rich heart it strikes fear
And I drop my tears frequent
Knowing it's supposed to replicate semen
I'm going to keep it keep it
Only inside, the external
Better confined in a journal
They manipulate the vulnerability
Killing any shred of hope you possess
Poverty stricken and I'm thinking about
Just handing the devil my soul to molest
Because I know when I'm next
Everyone (keep) saying I'm next
What they don't see is the stress
But I'm making a way
Took a trip to the inner city
Saw a old homie said he spun the block
Took a step or two away from him
Looked him in eye's didn't see a lot
Couldn't save his soul
All he saw was opps
Such a big fish on little dock
Is gonna stop
Does it ever really stop
Met a lady through socializing she got paid shows to artists she provides them
There are three doors in hip hop and ones a closet
You could sellout and sell records
You could stick to yah guns stay indie or no progress
Gone with the wind
Each song brings a win
May not know'em til collaboration but when in rotation we acquaint through tax
Music can bring a message hope the melody help a heathen through the parallax
In the studio send a invoice for raps
Rip to Coolio paradise on the the map
For a gangsta who tryna feed the ones love make appearances in the club and roll with thugs
The epitome of what one thought he really was
Only speaking on his experience with the drugs
At a young age saw a body for the first time
Side the crib cops came sprayed lines
Momma figured everyone be fine
The irony of it is she had moved us far away from the philly streets
City to suburbs van or jeep
Find a way tryna make ends meet
There was not one thing that we did not have that my mother would know we need
Been using the memories as batteries
And the baggage leaves
Put it out of site and out of mind it loop gets back to
I let the passion bleed
Took a trip to the inner city
Saw a old homie said he spun the block
Took a step or two away from him
Looked him in eye's didn't see a lot
Couldn't save his soul
All he saw was opps
Such a big fish on little dock
Is gonna stop
Does it ever really stop
Took a trip to the inner city
Saw a old homie said he spun the block
Took a step or two away from him
Looked him in eye's didn't see a lot
Couldn't save his soul
All he saw was opps
Such a big fish on little dock
Is gonna stop
Does it ever really stop
Lyrical chef like Raekwon
Mama figured everyone will be fine
Lyrical chef like Raekwon
Mama figured everyone will be fine
Credits
Writer(s): Talmadge Whitaker Junior
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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