| Beyond my doorstep, ain’t much to write about
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| I was a normal kid with normal problems, but I’d write it out
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| Plus, my therapist said it’s probably best to talk about it
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| So I talk about it, I just don’t wanna be judged, you see?
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| Beyond my doorstep, ain’t much to write about
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| I was a normal kid with normal problems, but I’d write it out
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| Plus, my therapist said it’s probably best to talk about it
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| So I talk about it, I just don’t wanna be judged
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| I was born in the South, chitlins and grits
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| By the age of one, parents, they decided to split
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| Pops took me back to Brooklyn, I’d be damned if it’s
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| Not crazy how many babies die from crackheads and tricks
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| Black eyes, bloody knuckles by the young age of six
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| I was always fightin', always down in the mix
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| Prison pipeline was born at PS-156
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| Then I moved upstate and my whole life switched
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| I remember second time somebody called me a «nigga»
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| It was my best friend’s mom, what the hell I expect?
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| All white neighborhood, five black kids
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| Delhi, New York in the '90s at this |
| I was straight out of Brownsville, Tyson on my wrist
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| Traded pigeons for the Delaware River, crayfish
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| Chewin' tobacco, ATVs, shotguns in the 6th grade
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| I wanted to be like all the other kids and get paid
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| I used to help around the house with money I made
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| While middle class white kids used to play with their moms
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| Go to sleep away camp and travel abroad
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| I was collectin' cans, shovelin' snow, cuttin' their lawns
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| I still couldn’t fit in, the only Black kid they passed
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| My whole life was a sit-in, «Sit in the back of the class»
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| «We don’t segregate, you can sit in the back of the bus»
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| «We don’t discriminate, you can sit right behind us»
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| Cafeteria, library, boy, sit with your race
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| Sit wherever you wanna sit, so long as you sit in your place
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| I just wanted to belong, I just wanted to be cool
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| So I started gettin' money, became the thief of the school
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| Stealin' oxygen out of water just to suffocate pools
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| So I could drown in my own tears and float on the rest
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| I don’t wanna be judged, just wanna speak from my chest |
| And document all of this in case I reach my last breath
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| Beyond my doorstep, ain’t much to write about
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| I was a normal kid with normal problems, but I’d write it out
|
| Plus, my therapist said it’s probably best to talk about it
|
| So I talk about it, I just don’t wanna be judged, you see?
|
| Beyond my doorstep, ain’t much to write about
|
| I was a normal kid with normal problems, but I’d write it out
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| Plus, my therapist said it’s probably best to talk about it
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| So I talk about it, I just don’t wanna be judged
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| Who ever thought in Puerto Rico, I’d still be a «nigga»?
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| «A mono, amigo» the nappy hair who couldn’t speak the language
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| Hang out at the basketball courts with the gang-bangers
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| It wasn’t really my forte, just like shootin' hoops
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| It’s funny how pain unites people
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| I remember sittin' in Reader’s driveway eatin' cuchifritos
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| Watchin' Minga y Petraca, eatin' bacalaitos
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| Neighbor twerkin' on the door like «Ay, que rico»
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| We dated for a month, then she dated Pepito
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| Talkin' 'bout «Él tiene un carro y me da besitos» |
| Whatever chick, I couldn’t wait to leave Calle Cinco
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| Moved to the Bronx with the rest of the gringos
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| Fell in love with a stripper when I was in 10th grade
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| She was in the 12th, but she helped my memories fade
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| I sold bootleg CDs and made mixtapes
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| A bag full of BB guns, comin' straight from school
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| Shootin' at pedophiles on Zerega Ave, actin' a fool
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| Shit, I barely passed, not my grades, but my life
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| By the age of 16, attempted suicide twice
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| Depressed, always ready to fight
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| Orange razor blade in my pocket, and I’m searchin' for the light
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| Walkin' on the edge like, «Fuck it, I might take a flight»
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| Then I go back to my room, I was ready to write
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| I hated everything and everybody that seemed right
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| Like, «Why is it not me?», like, «Why aren’t I like?»
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| I just wanna be free, I just wanna be hype
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| Who would have thought I would invite so much strife?
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| But it’s hard to have vision when you can’t gain sight
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| Started cuttin' myself, while in search of the light
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| Just to feel emotion, I couldn’t feel nothin' right |
| Felt the love and the pain at the end of a knife
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| Beyond my doorstep, ain’t much to write about
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| I was a normal kid with normal problems, but I’d write it out
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| Plus, my therapist said it’s probably best to talk about it
|
| So I talk about it, I just don’t wanna be judged, you see?
|
| Beyond my doorstep, ain’t much to write about
|
| I was a normal kid with normal problems, but I’d write it out
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| Plus, my therapist said it’s probably best to talk about it
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| So I talk about it, I just don’t wanna be judged
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| We all deal with the same shit in different ways
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| Doesn’t mean you a good soul just 'cause you rockin' J’s
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| And just rockin' J’s doesn’t mean you gettin' paid
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| And just 'cause you paid doesn’t mean that you’re happy
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| Money will make you smile, but won’t keep you from laughin'
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| And laughing’ll keep you happy, but won’t keep you from cryin'
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| Crying’ll make you feel alive, but won’t keep you from dyin'
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| That’s why I’m cryin' at this doorstep before I open the door
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| And my son runs in my arms and I fall to the floor |
| Thinkin' 'bout the time I was a kid wanting much more
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| Thinkin' 'bout my past and how I had so much more in store
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| I wanna be the best father, Father, please understand
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| It ain’t easy raisin' a child and still becomin' a man
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| But, then again, then again
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| Then again, then again
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| Then again, then again
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| Beyond my doorstep, ain’t much to write about
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| I was a normal kid with normal problems, but I’d write it out
|
| Plus, my therapist said it’s probably best to talk about it
|
| So I talk about it, just don’t wanna be judged, you see?
|
| Beyond my doorstep, ain’t much to write about
|
| I was a normal kid with normal problems, but I’d write it out
|
| Plus, my therapist said it’s probably best to talk about it
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| So I talk about it, I talk about it
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| I’ll talk about it, I’ll talk about it
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| I’ll talk about it, I’ll talk about it |