And I... started off dumb, raised by the hoodrats, listen to the radio wishin that i could rap.
How many pistols smoking coming from a broken family?
Can't nobody touch me right now. Maybe next month all of this will be over. But this month I'm takin' every movin' target out.
Reality is wrong. Dreams are for real.
There's a machine that I have nothing to do with. It's called the "Tupac Machine."
No thank you to all the bustas, cowards, and FAKE HOMIES who showed me the depths of jealousy, envy and greed.