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Just me...middle class kid from the suburbs doin' my thing, livin' in Richmond now.
Song Info
Genre
Charts
#133,521 today
Peak #552
#82,779 in subgenre
Peak #319
Author
The Truth
Rights
Fuck yeah!
Uploaded
August 23, 2005
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.1 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Lyrics
Richmond days, where the rich men stray/
Dealin' on the corner, where the misfits slave/
Fist over fist, they're quick to get pissed/
And if you snitch, see how quickly you're stiff in a ditch/
Cuz the blocks hotter than a spliff when it hits/
With the hustlers and tricks, turnin' bricks for a fix/
The only grits with the fish, are rocks as mean looks/
Its the dirty dirty, but the block has clean cooks/
So the cops get things put to the chest of known crooks/
Who confessed, to dodge the arrest and thrown books/
Every home in the ghetto looks modestly decent/
And by modest, I mean the like monopoly pieces/
Knocking has ceased, cuz opportunity's shot/
It was killed by a stray from the community glock/
Those with immunity walk, cuz they talked to much/
But I could never leave, I'd miss the block too much/
Generations of homeless, who ain't gunna leave/
Just cuz the news on the streets the only paper they read/
Who you gunna trust, when theres a favor you need?/
The police? The thugs? The mayor or me?/
When jobs are like Lays, you can't have just one/
But try tellin' that to kids with trust funds/
Its sucks for some, for those who've spent years/
Preachin' peace and to have it fall on deaf ears/
On election years, when the booths go up/
Its not a challenge to guess who shows up/
Even the schools corrupt, whose to trust?/
When we got kids with guns that're movin' stuff/
I went from smooth to rough, clean to gritty/
When I left the burbs only to have seen the city/
Parts are green and pretty, the trees and paper/
But people stay poor, because it keeps em safer/
The sirens at night don't cry, they weep/
For the deaths of those who lie and cheat/
For the mothers who don't have pride to keep/
They supply the streets to survive and eat/
Where you can buy the heat without serials placed in/
But get caught, spend 5 years in the state pen/
It's great when a plate's fed to 4 mouths to feed/
But sometimes the cost makes it more 'bout the greed/
Which leads to one more house that needs skeemin'/
One more reason, one more beamer that needs beamin'/
Its open season for all acceptable trades/
Blades, grenades...shipping weapons in waves/
People steppin' in graves, puttin' their right foot in/
Takin' it out, shake it about then stickin it right back in/
At night I swear when I hear her cry out/
And I know I'm here, till I know she's died out/
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