Verse 1

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I was raised on the block
learned everything from a street by the name of Sinbad
where it's harder to get your hands on a book,
then your hands on a 10 sack
and cats let their pants sag
and die over red and blue rags
and bullets fly past ready to crash dreams
of innocent new borns and pre-teens
the homeless fiend tokes a newport
the smoke he exhales foretells
the future of an ex-con fresh from jail
it's cloudy
youngsters locked in county
they spend more on prison than schools to imprison me in my surroundings. Where you from?
Cali-for-nia
where folks try to go Hollywood end up dead in the back of a dark alley another dream deferred
running in black jeans and nike cortez from a ghetto bird
it's where I heard a pops tell his son
when you see them cops you run
arm yourself with handguns, semis and shotguns
to save your life
because they got 3 strikes and prop 21
we live fast and die young
10 years old with a cell phone mistaken for a gun
that's where I come from

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