| I start from the point when I stopped studying as my mother would have liked
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| I'm going back to my thirteen
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| Fourteen, fifteen years
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| On the ladders made in the street with the older ones
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| Yes asocial means, means to sell, half doomed
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| Names here in the newspapers, half facts, half done at funerals
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| Slaps of a father, grams to give
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| Childhood fatality, get busy
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| From facts to harm
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| Staying with the older ones
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| Reunited with all other peers
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| That ironic fate that crossed us
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| Different stories but same cracks
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| Alone in the neighborhood
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| A few months and I was only thinking about thefts and not getting drunk
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| We just wanted what so many had
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| And I was the son of those who spit on others, on where you eat
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| And the people watching us in the area
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| He judged us without thinking about what
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| And everyone at home was missing and now you know that
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| That everything that I have lived I would never have wanted for myself
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| The feeling we feel about being sick, what do you know about me
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| And the people who look at you don't know what you do for yourself
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| May God bless my life if I am still me after all
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| We were little children, but children of a whore
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| On the street all facts in fact the fact was told
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| And every time a new one
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| We who on the benches not even a test
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| For a few bills
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| Test bench
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| I never miss school
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| Yes we wanted more, just the dreams that nobody has
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| The five of us alone around, on mopeds until morning
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| That seventeen, who was there always says so
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| If taken and spent, weights, we will give you pounds to pounds in two months
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| Normal guys, cut pieces, half escaped
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| With the means stolen to get involved in the appropriate means
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| But how many means ruined
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| Half half dead the other half half changed
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| You know that
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| That everything that I have lived I would never have wanted for myself
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| The feeling we feel about being sick, what do you know about me
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| And the people who look at you don't know what you do for yourself
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| May God bless my life if I am still me after all
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| And there I was tired
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| I didn't stop but I saw faces in crisis
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| Visited friends changes in one year
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| One of the few left from the first steps to die is enough
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| Every month I moved home dreaming that I would make it
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| To rob the drug dealers
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| To the boss of drug dealers
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| From one branch to minor branches
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| Counting money proud
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| You saw the fruits that you bear
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| The money you throw away afterwards
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| Trust no more
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| I just wanted me above everyone
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| But everything changed between remained on the ground and remained on the street
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| Love lost because I didn't say enough
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| My mother who couldn't even look me in the face anymore
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| I who wanted to make my name among those who spit in my face
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| Among friends for convenience because you are someone
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| To someone it is convenient to have some knowledge
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| They call you friend because without you they are without you
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| They will end relationships the first day you go without
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| And you get lost in time
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| Today everything is different
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| And at our wall there is not even half a kid anymore
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| I watch these new guys here pusher but for half a pound
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| And after a year on the street he talks about the street, but lives in the center
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| Today here they talk, they boast, yes they sell out
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| With the fridge full, the father by his side but they don't wonder
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| Whoever put the first packages in your hand first
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| What if they talk about the street but the why before these
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| For those who were on the street with no other way
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| Being with those who then grew up and died on the same road
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| I speak to those who will come later, to the few who know how to listen
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| I say that few pay off, too many rest in peace
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| You know that
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| That everything that I have lived I would never have wanted for myself
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| The feeling we feel about being sick, what do you know about me
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| And the people who look at you don't know what you do for yourself
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| May God bless my life if I am still me after all |