Lyrics
THE STREETS
written by peter kim, ralph mcconnell
I’m, comin’ off the blocks, comin’ off like,
Sprinters an’ glocks, cold winters an’ socks
Breadwinners an’ stocks, who do you know flows
Like, gold-diggers an’ rocks, y’all n*** s cannot
Stop f*** in’ with my acquisitions, you wanna be
Found missin’ in the kitchen, surrounded by chalk?
It’s not even funny, when you rip how we talk
Shi’ like that can get your whole ignorant fam’ly shawt
Grown-ass man, I’ll bury you below black sand, in the
Middle o’the night leave you in no-man’s land
In the middle o’the night leave you with cold-ass hands
Life leakin’ out ya eyez, livin’ in the past, man,
Runnin’ back, runnin’ back wi’ gold-ass hands
Like I’m runnin’ stacks, quality-control my brands
In the middle of the street, wherever this cat stands
Watch ya back, n*** , look out for my slow black vans
I know you got an image to retain, but you
Gotta have the roots, ‘cuz it ain’t even a game
Feel the pride and the pain, the victory and shame
Know yaself: bein’ legendary must be secondary
I know it’s kinda scary, but you gotta keep the flame
Lit like the dream when it seems like it’ll rain
And before, you forget, from where it was, you came
Just remember that the Streets know ya name
Undastand, every n*** ’s story is like
How difficult it was to find a job and a wife
How difficult it was to raise a child for a life, free to
Be yourself, just as long as you were not white? But in a
Generation, yeah, we claimin’ stereotypes, you wanna
Be like everyone else, without all the hype, you wanna
Be like everyone else, n’ see black n’ white, without even
Understanding what happened to Civil Rights. It doesn’t
Matter what you claim to have tasted, you can have ya
Dreams as long as you gon’ go chase it, and only when
You get there can you say that you made it but you
Still have to remember that you came from the basement
How can you forget your parents were raised from racists
That they sacrificed sh** you can never i-may-gine
Know where you came from, and know where ya place is
The Streets: the price, is a memory sacred, uh!
Undastand, it ain’t about the fashion or show, I don’t
Care about the rocks and the rims ‘at you roll, I don’t
Care about the brands that you go n’ swallow, gimme
Comraderie, community an’ a place I can go. When you
Wanna talk to somebody who knows what you know
And you don’t have to worry about whoever’s stealin’ the show
You get respect just because the spoon in your mouth is gold
You wanna come up with cash? You comin’ up on your own,
How do you start an empire, without the emperor, how you gonna
Set the world on fire without raisin’ the temperature?
You can run a neighborhood or you can be U.S. Senator (uh)
You can own a Bentley, or you can say that you rented it
I’m the f*** in’ message AND the messenger,
The Streets is a b*** , and you ain’t never forgettin’ her
Take it back like a Maybach, yeah, wherever you at,
I’m puttin’ Chi on the map, now play the hook back
