No Title

Forget the world and the ghetto  too.

When I wake up I get ready to lace up my shoes.

Walking out the  front wondering if someone is going to shoot.

Five weeks earlier my home-boy kirk was shot all over the news.

I try to take care of myself to put on a strap.

Running away and shooting at the same time was the only option that gave me help.

I hustle hard to get out of hell.

Hookers on the corner making their paper and drugs being sold was the only job that gave me wealth.

During the day I pray to God give me some help.

 I knew he will never turn he's back if he's son need the help.

Sometime I ran sometimes I belted.

But now I do music.

I'm just here waiting being patient.

Hanging with the right people that will take me to the top.

Hoping all my music will make people feel what i feel will make them come alive.

Now I'm making money the niggas I grew up with think I should not apply.