Fighting in the Streets

I started throwing down when I was only three.

My dad knew how to fight and he passed it on to me.

I practiced with my brothers then we took it to the block.

I went to school and found the bully,

Cleaned his fucking clock.

My mother got so angry.

She tried to raise us right.

No matter what she did to me I always loved to fight.

Seneca kicked my ass down on 4th and Wallace St.

You'd think I learned my lesson but I fought him in a week.

Win or lose, it's no different.

I guess I love the energy.

I can hear my mother calling.

"Come and get you boys cause they're fighting in the street!"

I've made some friends across the years and a couple enemies.

I'm d own with LBU my family across the sea.

I'm not the greatest fighter and I haven't won them all but I still can see my fathers face and hear my mother call.

I drove through my old neighborhood trying to reminisce about the places that I've been and faces that I miss.

I've learned about forgiveness and a little self-control,

But if it's time to rumble fuck that shit it's time to fucking go