A Street Story (Part 1 (maybe))
Ain't too much be said about my little homie
Raised in a broken home, chillin' on his porch, lonely
I watched him from afar, he would glare at the passin' rides
Waitin' for a blessin'. It was too late, his heart had died
Dropped out of the 11th grade, school proved insufficient
Motha didn't know that he was always in detention
Who ever cared? Nobody but his baby brotha
Never heard of no help, was it because of his color?
If you ask me, it probably wuz
When I look up at the news, we labeled as animalz and thugz
Man, we trapped inside a wired-fenced with poverty and poison
Cop cars and helicopters causin' many noises
My little had got fed up one day
So he walked out the house to the streetz where they slanged yay
Askin' his homies is they "down for some cash?"
Little homie thought he had heart, down for the mash
An inescapable jungle. One wonders how to get out
Plenty brothaz thought of pullin' jack moves and headin' south
We gone rob a few corner stores. If we stay strategic
Hit up the deposit box, the sooner we can flee it
Da little homie got the ammunition
How easily attained. This is amerikkka and we play its game
A week later after observations
Mind set on stackin' chips. Robbery the occupation.
And this da plan of our young kidz left to die
Forgotten in a system where they throw you down if you try
My little homie already knowz that
Posted up in front of the store, tuckin' on his concealed gat
The time wuz right. He busted in with 2 behind
The cashier shivered. In his face, was a chrome 9
"Open da safe!" datz how he hollered out to em
Little homie snatched da cash contemplatin' if he should do 'em
The other homies grab da box from the back room
What would appear to be heard was 2 loud booms
They had regrouped. Discovered was a bloody mess
A cop had hit my little homie in his boney chest
They shot the cop. They pick my little homie up
Got out the store and drove away in a black Cut
My little homie, he was bleedin' in the backseat
A chase commenced thru tha hood, in the backstreets
For half an hour they were dodging the cops
Helicopterz with they spotlights, speeding down the block
Thats until they hit a tree, and they then got surrounded
"Forget jail!" on the dashboard, he pounded
Got out the car and a shootout began
Bloody kids shootin' gatz? That ain't hard to comprehend
Its the ghetto where they dwell. Thangz happened everyday
So it wasn't out the ordinary as the gunfire rained
My little homie was the last one standin' despite his injuries
I got hit 11 times. But I think I'm gonna be fine
My homiez shot to death, unfortunately, I survived
Now I'm 20, doin' 25 to life
R.I.P. to my homie. May you rest in peace
You was souljah til you died, curse the police
I hid the money in the tree for our families
They gonna be fine, your spirit remains in my mind
That'z how this real life story goes, his lil brotha gettin older
Praisin' the lost of my young souljah
A Street Story
Ain't too much be said about my little homie
Raised in a broken home, chillin' on his porch, lonely
I watched him from afar, he would glare at the passin' rides
Waitin' for a blessin'. It was too late, his heart had died
Dropped out of the 11th grade, school proved insufficient
Motha didn't know that he was always in detention
Who ever cared? Nobody but his baby brotha
Never heard of no help, was it because of his color?
If you ask me, it probably wuz
When I look up at the news, we labeled as animalz and thugz
Man, we trapped inside a wired-fenced with poverty and poison
Cop cars and helicopters causin' many noises
My little had got fed up one day
So he walked out the house to the streetz where they slanged yay
Askin' his homies is they "down for some cash?"
Little homie thought he had heart, down for the mash
An inescapable jungle. One wonders how to get out
Plenty brothaz thought of pullin' jack moves and headin' south
We gone rob a few corner stores. If we stay strategic
Hit up the deposit box, the sooner we can flee it
Da little homie got the ammunition
How easily attained. This is amerikkka and we play its game
A week later after observations
Mind set on stackin' chips. Robbery the occupation.
And this da plan of our young kidz left to die
Forgotten in a system where they throw you down if you try
My little homie already knowz that
Posted up in front of the store, tuckin' on his concealed gat
The time wuz right. He busted in with 2 behind
The cashier shivered. In his face, was a chrome 9
"Open da safe!" datz how he hollered out to em
Little homie snatched da cash contemplatin' if he should do 'em
The other homies grab da box from the back room
What would appear to be heard was 2 loud booms
They had regrouped. Discovered was a bloody mess
A cop had hit my little homie in his boney chest
They shot the cop. They pick my little homie up
Got out the store and drove away in a black Cut
My little homie, he was bleedin' in the backseat
A chase commenced thru tha hood, in the backstreets
For half an hour they were dodging the cops
Helicopterz with they spotlights, speeding down the block
Thats until they hit a tree, and they then got surrounded
"Forget jail!" on the dashboard, he pounded
Got out the car and a shootout began
Bloody kids shootin' gatz? That ain't hard to comprehend
Its the ghetto where they dwell. Thangz happened everyday
So it wasn't out the ordinary as the gunfire rained
My little homie was the last one standin' despite his injuries
I got hit 11 times. But I think I'm gonna be fine
My homiez shot to death, unfortunately, I survived
Now I'm 20, doin' 25 to life
R.I.P. to my homie. May you rest in peace
You was souljah til you died, curse the police
I hid the money in the tree for our families
They gonna be fine, your spirit remains in my mind
That'z how this real life story goes, his lil brotha gettin older
Praisin' the lost of my young souljah
A Street Story
