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Roots! |
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Praise for the days when I couldn't get paid |
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In the fix on the mix in the damn projects |
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Cracks for the blacks but I couldn't sell that |
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Even though blacks couldn't get jobs and shit |
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Hit after hit from the Sugarhill Gang |
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Hear a Pow Wow, hear a Big Bank Hank |
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It was strange, I was broke but I still got the record |
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Even though I was poor and about butt naked |
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Rats in my front room, roaches in the back |
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Junkies in the alley running styles for the crack |
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It was ill on the real, I be still bugging off it |
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In the ways I will walk it so today I can talk it |
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It's a shame how the games in the ghetto get played |
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On the cracks they paid for the tricks they laid |
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I'm afraid for the youth in this time we're living in |
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Just about 13 on the scene scrambling |
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Gambling small-time, apologize nice |
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I'm about to roll 10 7's for the crap I rolled twice |
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Rough business, it's a rich mon time |
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When you ain't got the loot, you resort to the crime |
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From the cess house, the youth house, the jail house, the Cult house |
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Where I perfected these skills I be doggin |
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Love to teach the facts but the brothers in the back |
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Can't see what I'm saying cause the blunt smoke is foggin |
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Still I proceed with degrees of the wisdom |
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Cause this shit's thick, it kicks and I know it |
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Lickle do you know there's a God and so |
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Born just like Christ in a damn ghetto |
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From ghetto to ghetto, from project to project |
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Bookbag of lessons but I ain't have dough yet |
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From knowledge to wisdom, from wisdom to see |
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And understand me if you don't dance, G |
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It's a god in the house, it's a god in the house |
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And I'm godding it out, and I'm godding it out |
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I've come a long way, the strong way, the wrong way, I lived it |
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The right way, you might say, I got it, I'll give it |
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But praise for the days when I used to be tramp |
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And had to freeload of my Earth's food stamps |
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Til I stopped, paused, start the pop's stores |
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It was ill on the real, but who's to die for us? |
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Say that I rock my own community |
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Ain't a damn thing owned by the you or the me |
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It's Koreans I be seeing on the neighborhood corners |
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With the guns and the stores and love the ??? owners |
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So beg my parton, peace Natasha Harton |
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See I won't forget, I know for shit's starting |
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From my way to LA, from JA to UK |
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I am who I am, I say what I say |
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I gots no time to love a slave trader |
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Cause according to the constitution, they'll always hate us |
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Play this, say this, and say it like I said it |
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Cause a magazine edit can get your ass beheaded |
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I'm thorough breaded, black slave dreaded |
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The shit that y'all doing, I already did it! |
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But lickle do you know there's a God and so |
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Born just like Christ in a damn ghetto |
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Praise for the days when I used to be trife |
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With a lack of understanding anything about life |
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So thanks to Malcom, Martin, Wylee Ferartin |
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Father Allah talk the talk that I'm starting |
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Peace to Elijah, we can't forget about ya |
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Teaching us how ta, get up out the |
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Project complex caves |
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Another damn rave for the damn ex-slave |
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My ghetto noise ringing from a project hallway |
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Don't want to hear my mom say "Blacks have come a long way" |
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How can she see that when we haven't eaten all day |
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Haven't had a job since the ending of the slave trade |
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Then they give us church, attempt to try and ease this |
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But I check it out, had to learn about Jesus |
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Told em he was black and they called me a hater |
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Then he's on the church wall, yeah like a slave trader |
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Something real funny's going on boy I'll tell ya |
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Send you up sell ya, free ya try to kill ya |
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Martin taught me much when he simply tried to love em |
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Brother all about peace but the devils had to snuff him, but |
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Lickle do you know there's a God and so |
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Born just like Christ in a damn ghetto |
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Lickle do you know there's a God and so |
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Born just like Christ in a damn ghetto |
