we wouldn't ask why a rose that grew from the concrete for having damaged petals, in turn, we would all celebrate its tenacity, we would all love its will to reach the sun, well, we are the roses, this is the concrete and these are my damaged petals, dont ask me why, thank god, and ask me how

I'm not perfect. But I'll always be real

I wake up in the morning and ask myself; is life worth living? Should I blast myself?

It seems like every time you come up something happens to bring you back down.

Don't support the phonies, SUPPORT THE REAL

I thought I had friends but in the end n*iggaz dies lonely.

They say it's the white man I should fear, But it's my own kind doin' all the killin' here.