gangs, lies, sex, love.
you don't know what I'm made of.
death, streets, guns, sorrow.
sometimes I feel like I shouldn't be living tomorrow.
you're hood, you're dumb, this that and a third.
you don't even know me because my words are never heard.
I come from the trenches, the streets, the hood.
but don't let that mistake you for things that aren't understood.
yea I might be the same nigga from the projects, the same nigga from the hills.
the same nigga that was posted up onna corner doing all the drug deals.
but I'm human too, and I should be treated as one.
I've seen niggas get shot up and down and I didn't even run.
out where I'm from, you have to stay strapped.
cause you could be walking through the cut but you don't know it's a trap.
now and days people claim they really want to go to heaven.
all I know is if I don't, I'm gonna raise hell.
living in these streets really has broken me down.
it cracked me out of my shell.
just be careful of where you're at and who you're around.
because you never know, you could be the next one that ends up being in the ground.