| Up above my head,
|
| I hear the wind whippin',
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| Here come them ghetto birds again,
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| On every street lamp,
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| Cameras see you from a distance,
|
| So the light hit the note to live,
|
| And now we survive,
|
| But it’s still nickle-and-dime,
|
| Quite underneath those lights,
|
| Tight-rope walking their life,
|
| You see, the cameras don’t work
|
| When we in danger and hurt,
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| Not a siren can be heard,
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| Look for dead in the dirt,
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| Mary, don’t you be ashamed to cry,
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| Everywhere you looking,
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| Another soul misguided,
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| Thinking his pistol make him a man,
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| Minimum wage ain’t workin',
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| He want that fast money,
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| Spend it as soon as it touch his hand,
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| Why can’t he see,
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| He don’t gotta try to be,
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| To push any hero CD?
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| Mother rear-viewin' me,
|
| And I’ll tell you what’s worse,
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| Hurtin' lucavidia? |
| a verse,
|
| Ghetto-livin' like a curse,
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| Can’t even find truth in the church,
|
| Mary, don’t you be ashamed to cry,
|
| Mary, don’t you be ashamed to cry,
|
| And now we survive,
|
| But it’s still nickle-and-dime,
|
| Quite underneath those lights,
|
| Tight-rope walking their life,
|
| You see, the cameras don’t work
|
| When we in danger and hurt,
|
| Not a siren can be heard,
|
| Look for dead in the dirt,
|
| Mary, don’t you be ashamed to cry,
|
| Mary, don’t you be ashamed to cry,
|
| Oh, mother Mary, don’t you be ashamed to cry,
|
| Don’t you be ashamed to cry,
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| Mary, don’t you be ashamed to cry. |