Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Still Livin' In The Ghetto, artist - Brand Nubian. Album song Young Son (12"), in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 20.12.2010
Record label: Babygrande
Song language: English
Still Livin' In The Ghetto |
Still livin in the ghetto |
After all this time, through all the climb |
Still livin in the ghetto |
Don’t let it take your mind |
Yo I was born here, my momma was born here |
Her momma was born here, my father was born here |
And his father was born here, and we all here, livin in fear |
My peers are either dead or in prison for years |
How many generations, get caught, in a perpetuation |
Of poverty, robbery becomes a occupation |
Look around, it’s pure desolation |
And desperation, feel the sweat, from the persperation |
See it’s hot in hell’s kitchen, a lot fell victim |
Everyday we in a fight, how can we beat the system? |
All this time got out mind conditioned |
We find solace in religion, Muslim or Christian |
We bow down on our knees and hope somebody listenin |
But all we promised for narcotics is a drug conviction |
Every day is like Russian roulette |
It’s the next century and we ain’t got shit yet y’all |
Uhh, when will it go away, when will there be a day |
That we all got paper just to throw away |
When will the tables turn, when will the devils burn |
When will the time come when seeds be the main concern |
A hungry man is a angry man |
Gotta freak some type of plan to get some up in the hands |
See life is like a hustle and it’s colder than a whore’s heart |
But when you comin from the ghetto that’s a rough start |
By the time you 12, you know the street life very well |
Stuck in hell, neighborhoods are one big holdin cell |
The hood life nevertheless been a good life |
But should life constantly consist of stress and strife |
They don’t play us, cause they know we represent peace |
And they don’t no peace, they want us killin with a piece |
Or up North with some grease, with a photograph of some peeps |
Just lettin us slug it out, 'til we all become deceased |
Jean the dopefiend who keep all her cars clean |
And Mr. Mack who smoke cracks on the weekend |
That music upstairs is comin from the Puerto Ricans |
Arabs sellin guns in the store |
Nigerians pump the diesel yo, that’s so raw |
Cornerbound Dominicans play the block in the daytime |
With names like Jose, Plantano, or Reyes |
Me and you grow or as a result stay as, a |
Victim of block day, an hour earlier |
He fought with his fists now the nigga layin twisted |
Swirlin smoke your girl and coke and guns |
The Sherling coat, that you bought for you and your suns |
Can be replaced, but you could get laced |
Oh they hit him in the face, it was awful, terrible for his family |
To see him laid like that, said he was comin right back |
It was fast, seen the fire, heard the blast |