| That’s the look of pain
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| You never want to see
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| When a ghetto youth finds out
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| His dreams my never be
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| Verse One:
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| I’ve seen crack sales in broad daylight on park benches
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| Old folks watch it from the windows in they kitchens
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| Convinced the police don’t care and won’t listen
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| Hopin' that they got some under covers takin' pictures
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| They ain’t tryin' to be the ones that gotta save the system
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| For every five thugs, maybe one will go to prison
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| The other four are left to intimidate the witness
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| Go to trial against them and you might come up missin'
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| Lookin' at the odds it’s a no brain decision
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| Unless you wanna jeopardize your family and children
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| And so they keep their eyes closed, continue feedin' kittens
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| And open up their blinds again, when the sale is finished
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| They hope that dope don’t invade their fam
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| But how would you cope if your moms was smokin' grams?
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| See that’s what I be thinkin' when I bump into my man
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| Gave him a bear hug and shook his cold hand
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| Asked about the future, if he had a plan
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| Aside from the hustlin' and corner store scams
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| He said, «Life is hard», I said, «I understand»
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| The weight of his home life was more than he could stand
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| The oldest of four seeds, he’s only fifteen
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| But everybody lookin' towards him to make the cream
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| He said, enroll in college might help him to change things
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| Managin' a smile while he spoke so painfully
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| Then he started to choke up
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| As if he woke up
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| And realized that whatever he made his mom would smoke up
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| Verse Two:
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| It’s hard to stay optimistic as a ghetto youth
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| When you can’t anticipate the days ahead of you
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| It’s like, dope fiend next to you
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| Gangs keep stressin' you
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| Pharmacists operate the block makin' revenue
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| They never get caught cause they know the cops schedules
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| And every time you come home it’s like your mom questions you
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| She don’t wanna see you on the street corner gettin' loot
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| You told her that was something you would never do
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| You concentrate on school
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| Your grades exceptional
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| You visualize yourself as a black professional
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| Plus your girlfriend is in the same class as you
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| But it’s drama when you walk her home after school
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| These knuckleheads on the block they be harassin' you
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| You say, «Chill»
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| That you just passin' through
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| You used to be cool with 'em but now they actin' new
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| You crack jokes but they gettin' more mad at you
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| Now they puttin' up their dukes so they can scrap with you
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| And when it’s over
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| You leave 'em ALL black and blue
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| Now they talkin' about blastin' you
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| Now they got guns chasin' after you
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| You didn’t think that they would pull it
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| But now you find yourself runnin' from the sound of stray bullets
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| You get closer to the crib and start smilin'
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| Felt somethin' in your back it was a bullet in a spinal column
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| Now you startin' to bleed
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| You blackin' out, it’s gettin' harder to see |