Born through hard times, Ghetto child of mine. I wonder if you have to suffer for your father's crimes.

I'd be in my hotel room, smoking too much, drinking, going to clubs, just being numb. That was being in jail to me. I wasn't happy at all on the streets. That was the addict speaking.

My homie lost his family and snapped, shot up half the block to bring them back.

Losing my homies in a hurry, they're relocating to the cemetery.

All good niggers, all the niggers who change the world, die in violence. They don't die in regular ways.

To all the seeds that follow me protect your essence, Born with less, but you still precious.

It's a struggle for every young Black man. You know how it is, only God can judge us.