Thousand lives ago, we were young and we didn’t know
We were trading our crowns for our souls
Made the sacrifice, headed back to the light
But be careful don’t drown in the gold
I know it glows but it’s cold
I’m from the other side of town, out of bounds
To anybody who don’t live around
I never learned to share or how to care
I never had no teachings about being fair
Have you ever heard of Black Stone around Black Stones?
And Four CHs, Vice Lords, Stony Island on Aces
The concrete matrix, street organizations
They gave violations, hood public relations
It was the basics to get big faces
Stay away from cases, bad broads, good graces
The hustlers was the taste makers and trend setters
They the ones that fed us hopin' that the feds don’t get us The era of Reagan, the terror of Bush
Crack babies, momma’s a push, we were the products of Bush
I’m wishin' for a Samurai Suzuki and a little Gucci
A bad ho to bee-bee-bee do me, you heard of Flukey
Stokes, it was folks and coke and dope
Fiends choked off of smoke, herringbones and rope
Rare jewels of a generation
Diamonds, blinding us of real shit we facin'
Forties wasted on 'ceased, Dion makin' the beats
When they air it out on at the parties we escapin' the heat
I could break it down like whatever you need
He squinted his face and rolled the weed
You know they don’t see sometimes that in the neighborhood, it’s the exact same
thing. It’s the same thing over and over again. Feel me?
Have you ever heard of no limit, three hundred, six hundred?
Folly boy, O block, eastside
Where it ain’t no conversation they just let them heats ride
Can’t nobody stop the violence, why my city keep lyin'?
Niggas throw up peace signs but everybody keep dying
Used to post up on that strip, I look like a street sign
I’ve been out there three days and I got shot at three times
Felt like every bullet hit me when they flew out each nine
I be happy when I wake up and I have a free mind
I know haters wanna clap me up, watch the morgue grab me up But they can catch me later, I been cool, chasin' paper
Where I come from ain’t no hope if you was claimin' that was major
Small crib, big fam, mom was workin', granny raised us No food in the refrigerator, I was bangin', pullin' capers, that’s real shit
Same niggas from day one boy, yeah I’m still with
Better watch out for that jump shot cause they will hit
Homie take your shorty lunchbox, and won’t feel shit
I came from a place where it’s basic but you won’t make it Feds buildin' cases, judges who racist and full of hatred I mean
You ain’t never seen the shit that I seen
Coming inbound, forty six minutes from 355. Jim Bryant’s twenty eight out,
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jammed north through Grant Park. Tri State heavy south gulf to the Bensenville
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