| He’s running in a short race, shoelace untied
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| Head down, facial expression he can’t hide
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| Kid with no direction, seems confused
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| A victim who spent years, being abused
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| His moms a drug addict, she has a bug habit
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| Was a seven day event, since she celebrated the Sabbath
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| But she back slid, or that’s what the crack did
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| She used to shoot up, under her sleeves, the track hid
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| A long time ago, the father left the picture
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| And as time went on, he was erased from the scripture
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| The son, he don’t have much to treasure
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| And these kids that be getting on him, they do it for pleasure
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| Demons are gradually growing inside him
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| Way before he ever knew the courts would divide him
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| A wall around himself had became a shell
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| Was a whole new person, by the time the bricks fell
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| It’s a short race, duck the court dates
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| The pork gave chase, we had to walk straight
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| You know the forte, nigga it’s a portrait
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| Or should I say a poor trait
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| You want to store very short cake
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| Estate, behind the gate
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| N.Y. State, why wait?
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| You trying to get paid by the lake
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| In each state, and do the shit at high pace
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| Under the dirt, there was nothing left but bones
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| A lot of tall grass around his tombstone
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| His mother left alone, her heart felt sorrow
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| No time to play with the precious time we borrow
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| They live next door, but he was worlds away
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| In reality, but such a high price to pay
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| He was easy to recognize from his dress code
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| Nothing but a firework about to explode
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| A short fuse, who was bound to lose in the struggle
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| His grandparents went through a great deal of trouble
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| To keep him out of jail, they even put they house on sale
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| To post bail, but the kid still failed
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| I remember when he called collect from behind bars
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| Suffering from two injuries and nine scars
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| He said he’d give anything to be out the pen
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| But it would be his permanent home until the end
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| Wait, I got to get mines
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| With a side of French fries, not kid sized
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| Sixes fives, I give off a pimp’s vibe
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| Is it the vines? |
| Watch like a sitcom
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| Throwing rocks with my pitching arm
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| More bricks than when the Knicks is on, I’m sitting on
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| Shitting on your boss, been written off
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| Shots I’m licking off, the top like a different source
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| Ripping this raw like a kitchen chore
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| That’s a block not chicken broth
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| Hold the pot with your mittens on
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| Dicks kicking in the door, and went to pick me off like a lintball
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| Jumped out the fifth floor it’s a pit fall
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| When I hit the lawn, shit it fell like a jigsaw
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| Rather get hit at the board, then to get tossed
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| Went to court, got shipped off like a brick of soft |