Lyrics Think You Know Me - Murs

Think You Know Me

You might think that you know me,
You know where I’m coming from,
You might think everything’s all good,
But at the end of the day you’re all wrong!
All blue chuck taylors, blue dodger hat,
85 Regal, my daughter in the back.
I’m just a gangsta to most of y’all,
On the real we’re just hanging on the way to the mall.
Week days I’m RN down at kaiser Weekends at church, I’m a youth adviser.
Just because I’m doing good I can’t forget my roots,
I can never feel right in a tie &suit.
501's a plain white «t"and I stay gettin' stopped by the LAPD.
That’s just life growin' up in south central,
I been done move, but it’s not that simple.
I gotta come back, my grandmomma there,
Sometimes it’s drama, but I really don’t care.
Here’s my neighbourhood and I love it,
Showin' all the little homies you can rise above it!
You might think that you know me,
You know where I’m coming from,
You might think everything’s all good,
But at the end of the day you’re all wrong!
All red chuck taylors and red dodger hat,
Posted up at market with a bottle of yack.
I’m just a gangsta, that’s what they say,
But on the real homeboy I just had a bad day.
Ten interviews, no call backs,
PO askin' me where my job at.
I’m an ex-con and it’s almost useless,
I’m a felon, don’t mean that I’m stupid.
Got cut up, tried as an adult
Lost five years of my life as a result.
In the feds I prayed and I read
Anything to keep the system out of my head.
I read Zinn, Jung, Bukowski
You really don’t know a damn thing about me.
I probably gotta higher IQ than you,
These jobs ain’t hiring, what should I do…
You might think that you know me,
You know where I’m coming from,
You might think everything’s all good,
But at the end of the day you’re all wrong!
Black dickies, black Cortez,
White wife beater, a fresh shaved head.
I’m just a gangsta, that’s what you thinkin',
You see me in the crew, posted up by Lincoln.
You see my tattoos, figure why I bother,
Really I’m an artist and I got my own parlor
Hard workin' father, wife and two daughters,
Strugglin', trying to keep our heads above water.
I’m a tax payer, I’m bilingual
I’m chicano, I’m not an illegal.
Tryin' to live your American dream,
But you keep judging me about how I wear my jeans.
They’re 42s, they’re starched and they creased
I gotta education, I got proper speech.
I’m from the streets, I’m not less of a man,
Just trying to get by and do the best that I can!
You might think that you know me,
You know where I’m coming from,
You might think everything’s all good,
But at the end of the day you’re all wrong!