| I’m from a place where real is real | 
| (Okay, we about to be out of here) | 
| I’m just tryna breathe | 
| (Talib Kweli, Killer Mike) | 
| I’m from a place hustler’s still | 
| (Beautiful struggle continues) | 
| Rob and steal and kill | 
| And extort and | 
| I’m from a place where real is real | 
| I’m just tryna breathe | 
| I’m from a place hustler’s still | 
| Rob and steal and kill | 
| And extort and | 
| (Yo it’s so dangerous man, let’s go) | 
| Baby’s locked in cages | 
| Mamas look twice they ages | 
| Starvation’s too much to stomach | 
| This must be Reaganomics | 
| These ain’t for Martin Luther | 
| Don’t let that name dupe ya | 
| And how he’s born violent | 
| He’s on that younger future | 
| On my block, boys with they hair | 
| Walk like two miles, sell crack rock | 
| And sell some samilia | 
| It sound familiar? | 
| Mi hombre, this is our familia | 
| Addicted felons, gun stealers | 
| And dope dealers | 
| And I’m from where coke is captain | 
| And you can buy whole in the back | 
| Of your block, in a napkin | 
| By themselves, children are left to fend | 
| So we indulge in sin | 
| Do what it takes to win | 
| Push off, shoot that jump | 
| But please check yourself, we win | 
| (I'm official | 
| Your Georgia homeboy | 
| Killer kill | 
| Putting it down for the ghetto) | 
| Ride with cracked up bumpers | 
| Do what it takes to win | 
| We mix our juice with Gin | 
| We mix our fight with hands | 
| We burn our dro slow | 
| Only with our closest friends | 
| We never scared | 
| We ride and die for one another | 
| This ain’t my boy | 
| This boy here, he’s my brother | 
| For him my blood’ll spill | 
| For him I will kill | 
| This is true, my testimony live from Dixie Hills | 
| This is Killa Kill, live I rest from Adamsville | 
| Before he toured school, my father was an entertainer | 
| Traveling through the south with a band of the crackers love to hang ya | 
| He stayed with me while I know most niggas pots is strangers | 
| Got soo gangsta, godfather to my cousin in van | 
| My suns is daily green | 
| These is the roots of my family tree | 
| My path is locked, I’ll hand you the key | 
| I ran through the streets, niggas can’t advantage of me | 
| I’ve seen calamities, soo much insanity, oh the humanity | 
| From a place where niggas keep the game face of the grills | 
| And go to the steel to make it real just to pay off some bills | 
| While robbing and killing is just basic skills | 
| But still niggas documented on those tapes of film | 
| Bullets gon' hit you in your stomach, near where your spleen be | 
| And rip you open, split six pack in half the mean three | 
| Yeah put addicts in the order, manics, yeah the hood have it | 
| You know the hood pack it, leave you in the wood jagged | 
| I wish you would actin', Brooklyn don’t act a fool | 
| When apex tack only way to pack a tool | 
| I got the flappers, you know the swagger with attitude | 
| Nigga piss in my ear, I let 'em go like ladders do | 
| Oh you wanna battle dude? | 
| You my challenger? | 
| I’m bad for you | 
| Make a snappy dude become a grown ass man, dawg, this shit I have to do, | 
| bad for you | 
| When I spatter you back up a few feet away | 
| When niggas laugh at you, you feel like there’s something you need to say? | 
| I’m from a place where real is real | 
| I’m just tryna breathe | 
| I’m from a place hustler’s still | 
| Rob and steal and kill | 
| And extort and | 
| I’m from a place where real is real | 
| I’m just tryna breathe | 
| I’m from a place hustler’s still | 
| Rob and steal and kill | 
| And extort and |