| No friends, selective family
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| All for the goal of collecting Grammys
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| Plenty of stress, a mess I can’t see
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| Blessed to stand, I won’t accept the plan B
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| Or am I left to take a breath as a man?
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| Mom wasn’t happy, didn’t respect my damn dreams
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| So what, I made lots of new shit?
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| She’d rather me stop and do gospel music
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| But in my defense, your honor
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| I couldn’t vent in the midst of playing shit behind bishop honor
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| Traded my organ days in for more days
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| Of more pain but in more ways I’m patient
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| My saving grace was a instrumental tape
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| In which I’d break my pencil tip to say shit
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| Though I do get offended with hate shit
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| I made it, now you can’t say shit
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| Can’t nobody make you a man or a woman
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| So you always gotta do what you can
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| And if you get tired and you don’t understand, just keep in mind
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| (Hip-hop has saved my life)
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| Maybe you can make it alive, till then
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| Just pray that you’ll be safe through the night
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| Just be real with your heart inside, look in my eyes
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| (Hip-hop has saved my life)
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| Two black eyes, broken nose
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| Jumped going home, wishing I was holding chrome
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| Close to overdose from poking holes in my flesh
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| Nowhere close to home
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| Don’t you know that in a city where the streets are nowhere close to gold
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| I would roam, perfecting my 'I'm just joking' flow
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| So I don’t care what you rappers tell me
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| I had some help from Marshall Mathers LP
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| A little bit of Pac, and of course Rak
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| And the Roc man, «Oh, Jay’s shit? |
| God damn»
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| To be the best in the mess I was presented
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| I played DMX and the stress would get diminished
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| Big L died before his time
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| But he could understand the afterlife more than I
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| So I rhyme to keep sane, Believe that
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| Thanks to Andre Young, and 3 stacks
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| When 'Ye hit the scene, I was excited
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| Finally, someone spits the shit that I spit
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| Sometimes, I feel he only spits shit that I get
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| For my approval, like, «Here Charles, do you like it?»
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| As far as Wasalu, I salute
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| Do what you gotta do, Mohammad’s watching you
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| But sometimes I gotta fit in, so I get reckless
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| 'Cuz reckless shit is all that gets respected
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| So to the kids crying, wishing they was dying
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| You ain’t gotta be like them to get where I am
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| I keep looking down with a smile
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| As the best thing coming from H-town in awhile
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| Please don’t give up, I almost died chasing this dream with my angry 16s
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| The age of 16, the grave had missed me
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| So I swear on it all, I’m making history |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Sunday Morning Testimonial , by - Charles Hamilton. Song from the album It's Charles Hamilton, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп