|
Yes and we begin where we left off. Leaving off where, pretty much begin. March with me y'all. |
|
On my 27th round trip around the sun |
|
Counting every blessing, reminicing on the drum |
|
But not for a second ever forgetting where I'm from |
|
Others grip the gun, my weapon is my tongue |
|
In the military slum |
|
Manuever through the sewer that the children call the river |
|
We coming home to dinner, make the kitchen smell shitty |
|
and shorty felt the pressure on his shoulders but really |
|
I jumped out the window whenever pops would hit me |
|
an 8 bit nintendo got replaced with the endo |
|
eventually my pen would be the means to escape |
|
Was 8 in '88 in the 808 state |
|
where the 808 kick was my heartbeat |
|
It got me in Honolulu, Hawaii to contemplate a career |
|
With no pinoys kickin' raps anywhere near |
|
Except for my peers |
|
Fathers all gone the better parts of the year |
|
At the ship yard watching mom wipe away the tears |
|
It was hard, but she stayed strong watching four kids |
|
I can see how tradition makes us do what we do |
|
Like keeping things in plastic so this shit will stay new |
|
some things we gotta lose, some things are worth keeping |
|
It wasn't all bad, but wasn't all peaches |
|
I'ma teach my son to respect his elders |
|
but not before they give him respect first, expected |
|
On my 27th round trip around the sun |
|
Counting every blessing, reminicing on the drum |
|
But not for a second ever forgetting where I'm from |
|
Others grip the gun, my weapon is my tongue |
|
On my 27th round trip around the sun |
|
Counting every blessing, reminicing on the drum |
|
But not for a second ever forgetting where I'm from |
|
Others grip the gun, my weapon is my tongue |
|
And I still got casette tapes with tape on top of 'em |
|
maybe I should auction 'em |
|
Lately I've been rockin' 'em |
|
Some of them I coped, but all the rest I went and pocketed |
|
Never was the talkitive type |
|
After "The Chronic" it dropped |
|
Before "The Infamous" my sentiments penned |
|
The beginning of the story where the logic begins |
|
Went bargain bin digging, the medicine made for listening |
|
Never afraid to question conditions that we were living in |
|
Even if we decided to live it up a little bit |
|
Underwear and socks: what I mostly got for Christmases |
|
And if you ever played ball with chinelas on |
|
This one's for y'all, 'cause once and for all |
|
If you ever held a San Miguel bottle in your palm |
|
Or the blocks that you used to stomp upon are gone |
|
Or all the above, then let this be the song |
|
The steps might be short, but the march is long, come on |
|
On my 27th round trip around the sun |
|
Counting every blessing, reminicing on the drum |
|
But not for a second ever forgetting where I'm from |
|
Others grip the gun, my weapon is my tongue |