| Reminisce about my childhood, doin things kids did
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| Roughhouse, playin in abandoned lots, throwin rocks
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| Trashcan tops wearin caps in America
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| That part of time be, tracked in my mind, it never blurs
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| I sometimes visit my youth
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| Close my eyes and think to alive, sittin on the stoop
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| Of my crib it’s weird, we had the «Our Gang» shit jumpin off
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| Bring it up to date, a couple are gone
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| Anyway, we was tight knit, mixed with, Spanish and black kids
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| Inner-city youth, colorblind
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| Even though we’d fight and clash, we’d get past the nonsense
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| With no grown folk intervenin, we conscious
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| Do it on our own with caution
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| Punches are thrown, but a hour later we talkin
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| If things get out of proportion, we adjust the fuss
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| And turn it to fun, no more sqwakin
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| Who thought about things like guns and coffins
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| A child’s mind nowadays wanna be flossin
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| I didn’t grow up fast but I knew a hardhead
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| Left the store fast, 70's child, respect that
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| 'Til this, day and time, them moments I hold precious
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| Deep in a child’s place taught a nigga life lessons
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| Up until the moment I chose this profession
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| Work hard but there’s no such thing as perfection
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| I often sit and say to myself this be a blessing
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| Forseein my callin in my adolescence, destined
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| To get the cars, the fly clothes, I stand froze
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| Thinkin back, swingin in the snow, makin angels
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| Yeah, yo, harsh reality smacked me in the face as a pre-teen
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| Some of my mans got caught up in the street dream
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| Hustlin it wasn’t my thing, yet I knew
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| Some who did it and did it well, you know this tale
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| But there’s a slight twist to this ghetto tale I tell
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| I had a cousin named Orell he was funny as hell
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| His momma name was Pearl, so I called her All Pearl
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| Auntie had a job offer in Cali in the San Diego jail
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| So she packed up her shit and split, from my uncle
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| They was married a decade and five cent, now fate
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| Me and my cousin’s tight, the youngest out my nanny grandbabies
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| Let me show ya why life is crazy
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| When we used to sham people, it never dawns on ya
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| That ya might not see 'em no more, I could remember
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| He was 5, I was 8, playin in front of my gate
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| Momma tellin us to come in cause it’s time to ate
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| Say grace over food my providers was great
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| Sayin peace to mom and pop still alive today
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| I recall one of my cousins goin out to California
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| Comin back tellin us niggas dyin over colors
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| He told me 'bout, khaki wearin, jheri curl brothers
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| Doin drivebys in cars with machine guns bustin
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| I found it farfetched, thinkin his story is stretched
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| Findin out later on about the West coast sets
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| Let me fast-forward the story and tell ya how it ends
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| They moved to start a new life for his life to end
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| Come to find out later on he was Blood inducted
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| From the same set he claimed was the Blood who bucked him |