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.