At the very best it used to be fat sacks of schwag stress
Uncouth grimey crimeys ditched school all day, classless
When it came to streets though we passed every last test
All the pretty girls we liked we were never able to impress
But then again we were too stuck on repping our given sets
I need not mention when in school you’d find us in detention
Vandalize everything with monikers for fame and attention
Youngsters avoiding officers with mad misplaced aggression
Thuggish little necios never knew the definition of confession
Some still doing time for not giving up the local connection
Permanent residence became California state corrections
I made it to a certain degree free, Lord knows RIP all my OG’s
Now we cop private reserve trees and some got legit J-O-B’s
Some homies are 6ft deep others w/ cases they’ll never beat
I’d be a liar if I were to say that it’s all roses and shit is sweet
I am however grateful for not having given in to utter defeat
Gutter always around the corner just like that white sheet
No high scores or played sports, got high played the doors
Didn't think what we were doing was crucial to our course
Literature was 12 oz Prophet, Art Crimes and The Source
That was then and still it’s ill good times with no remorse
But, that’s just a lil bit of my life, how about telling me yours?
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