Before I write I let my mind go blind and let the lord do his thing.

Oh Lord, help me change my ways, Show a litlle mercy on judgement day, It aint me I was raised this way, Never let em' play me for a busta, Makin' hell for a huslter.

If you walked by a street and you was walking a concrete and you saw a rose growing from concrete, even if it had messed up petals and it was a little to the side you would marvel at just seeing a rose grow through concrete. So way is it that when you see some ghetto kid grow out of the dirtiest circumstance and he can talk and he can sit across the room and make you cry, make you laugh, all you can talk about is my dirty rose, my dirty stems and how am leaning crooked to the side, u can't even see that I've come up from out of that.

After a long day of trying, to make my songs pay, making love all day against the wall in the hallway.

Nothing but pain, stuck in this game, searching for fortune and fame.

You gotta make a change. Its time for us as a people to start making some changes, lets change the way we eat, lets change the way we live, and lets change the way we treat each other. You see the old way wasn't working so its on us, to do what we gotta do to survive.

So many other things for us to see, Things to be, Our history so full of tragedy and misery.