Lyrics My Life 2.0 - Crooked I

My Life 2.0

1970-something and mama’s in the studio
Pregnant with Dominick while she was doing a song
Until her water broke in the booth
It’s not a joke it’s the truth
From that point let’s move it along
To the fact that my father was a rolling stone
Before we knew it dude was gone
Mama gotta do it alone
Who would’ve known
At the same time that she gave me life she might’ve ruined her own?
Cause she already had a son before me
Living in the big city, she young and lonely
Put her faith in a nigga but his love was phoney
Said he would hold her down while she sung her songs, G
Then he bounced.
put the pedal to the metal
No more record deals, we living in the ghetto
Gangbang, drive-by, homicide, place full of puppets killing each other
Uncle Sam is Geppetto
Five years-old when I seen my first murder
Playing outside, I heard shots from the Ruger
Four or five bullets put the victim in the bushes
Then I made eye contact with the shooter
Ran in the house, told my mama somebody died, I’ll never forget…
It was a white boy from Hoova
All she could say was «Hallelujah!»
«You're safe!»
Then she asked God to protect our future
Life as a shorty shouldn’t be so rough
Got my hat low, white tee on, gun in my waist, I’m a gangsta man
Flat broke, living in the hood, gotta get money so I jumped in the game
So many people I know… get killed like it ain’t no thang
To you it’s crazy, I know!
Real niggas gonna feel my pain
1990-something and mama’s little boy’s growing up
All the thug niggas calling him Crooked
It was a name that she never understood
But in the hood
Negative is positive so Dominick took it
Look at the way that he hang with the older niggas
Man them OG’s gave him a gangster style
A gun in the waist, a knife in the pocket, a pair of brass knuckles
Some mace and even straight razors now
Those… are the tools you use
To survive in the most dangerous place you could raise a child
Mama can’t afford nothing other than Section 8
We’ll escape
One day I’mma make her proud
But now I dropped out of school, sitting in a drug spot
Bagging up weed while my older brother slung rocks
Trying to get paid, watching for the punk cops
If they run a raid, they gon' be up in these gunshots
Take over the world shit, do it like Scarface
Banging on the news, helicopter and a car chase
This is the point where adrenaline make your heart race
Fuck sleeping under the jail cause of a narc case
Wasn’t the life that I aimed to choose
A nigga could’ve been the next Langston Hughes
But I landed in a place
Where you can get shot in the face
By a young banger trying to pay gangster dues
How in the fuck can I change my views
When I have to stab a nigga for trying to take my shoes?
Never won much, but I hate to lose
Only way that you could relate is if you played the blues
That was back when
But even back then
Mama made men out of the boys in the house
And I remember coming home fresh from a shootout
This is what she said with a joint in her mouth
She told me «Life as a shorty shouldn’t be so rough»
This is my life, man.
This is my life.
I was manufactured in the hood, man.
Read the label.
Read the label they got stitched on the back of my neck.
It says «Made in America.»
Ghetto America, ya heard?