Maybe the money cars and
ho’s
Is what attracted
Me to want to rap/
Maybe poverty led me to
that
Seeking a way up out the
trap/
Dodging drug traps
And hood rats
Trying to give me the
clap/
Watching my steps
Bcoz gang activity
Will have that ass blue
black/
GOD help me
Don’t let the stats hold
me back/
Don’t let me pigeonholed
In a slot where I don’t
fit/
Hunger pains got me so
sick
I want the steak and
eggs/
Instead of this old
section 8 shit
I heard the game is to be
sold/
And not told
So I studied every cd I
owned/
Repeated certain verses
and lines
Read between the curses
and rhymes/
Hip Hop infected my mind
And I got on my grind/
Shined my spit
Learned to freestyle
without expletives/
Perfected the flow until
it was excellent
Diversified my grammar
game
So when you hear my
lyrics/
You isn’t expecting
shit
Made sure I could move the
crowd/
Separate the G’s from
the busters
And front them out/
I became a hood reporter
On the front line/
Giving you the man on the
street
Perspective, objectively/
Real niggaz would agree
And only haterz hate how
ho’s
See a sex object in me
