Ghetto Child

The story began, me and my man had a plan

Get the fuck up out of the hood and stack grands

It was easy, supply and demand

But you know fast money always means you define the man

Fuck it, I had the whole city buying the brand

On the corner block where money and dope exchange hands

Make money, cash out

Don't wanna be like them dummies on the corner with their ass out

I was eighteen when my girl got knocked

Didn't want my young seed growing up on the block

Handcuffing the Glock, felony fucked by a cop, too many dropped

So I had no choice but to have my game on lock

Bought a house way before I could legally buy liquor

Adapting to this life ain't easy to dive into

Ghetto child at heart, roots run deep in the hood

When you lose that, it'll fall apart

I came up from the hood homie

And it's still all good

Like the shit don't stink, please

That are just like me

Yeah I made it out the hood homie

Not cause rap's been good to me

I know these two brothers put me on to what I'm doing

Fresh off the block, running around with them big toolies

Me and my rocks, fuck them cops just to call the duty

But what'll happen if I have to go back?

Not by choice cause I'm fucked up and lost my stacks

To them same corners and buildings with them roaches and rats

I'm a ghetto child, I've been there, survived all that

I can't go from these granite and wooden floors

To asbestos and hidden mold, pissy hallways, I don't miss it holmes

Too many ways to get paid to be out here broke

I got different forms to make flow, a steady stream of resource

I love the hood but I like where I'm at

I'm a globetrotter, me and Sick Jack killing raps

But if I have to, I'm born OT with them packs

I ain't gon' front, a fucking job to work, man this is sucker

Mayonnaise sandwich, pull the ends off the bread

Eating plain hamburgers cause the ketchup is dead

I remember knocking down the hall with a note

No hot water plus they used up all of the soap

And Time Warner just zapped my bootleg cable again in the projects

Back to 2457, 911, and Mr. Rogers

Mr. Yao, I came straight from the slums

You wake up to cock-a-doodle-doos, I wake up to guns

Night time, it used to sound like World War I swear

I knew all of them niggas on that wall right there

So I twist the 40 cap off and pour my beer

And guzzle to every thought when they was all right here

Real talk, man I couldn't afford Nike Airs

Me and my crew had Vans and I dogged my pair

I miss them house jams, a nigga dancing with the metal

Sitting on my hip, I couldn't slip up in the ghetto