| Life is what you make it
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| My darling, my dear
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| Try to make it
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| If I could, I would, if I can’t, I won’t
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| Please forgive me if I don’t
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| Should, some should be
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| I come from the strangest streets
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| I come from the place where love and danger meets
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| A house full of noisy kids, boys avoiding bids
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| Unemployed, on skid row, we had no toys for kids
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| We would bang our thumbs, gunshots, they run
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| We would bang on drums made from garbage cans
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| Even garbageman make more than mom
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| They make more than teachers, next door the preachers
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| They were sure they would reach us but we’d never listen
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| Niggas drunk and pissing on the side of the building
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| Can’t provide for children, someone stop the squealing
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| Turned to drugs for healing, thug sneaking and killing
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| Cop sirens are screaming, inside the cars, we dreaming
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| One day we could own one, right now we can’t bump crumbs
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| My brother would sell jawns, my mother would yell, «Son
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| You’ll end up in jail, son, or dead or in Hell, son»
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| But what could she tell son?
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| That money excel, son
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| Tony got knocked up, now looking for bail, son
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| Making collect calls, expecting that mail, son
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| Doing pushups in a six by four cell, son
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| A hard head makes a soft tail, son
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| And my little brother on that same trail, son
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| Life is a puzzle, every day is a struggle
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| And we ignore the ones who truly loves you
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| As we do foolish things we see the others do
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| I try to do the same things my big brother do
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| Life’s a struggle, we get trapped in this puzzle
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| And we ignore the ones who truly loves you
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| As we do foolish things we see the others do
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| I try to do the same things I saw my brother do
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| Loaded guns in the shoebox, fingerprints on the ooh-wop
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| Ziploc plastic bags with black and blue tops
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| We slung on the block and watch out for the blue coats
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| Ses blunts we pas after two tokes
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| Starving for a G-note back, and forth on the ferry boat
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| Coming up from poverty, we were very broke
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| To twenty-eight grams, expand to a thousand grams
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| Reap the twenty dollar bills passed through a thousand hands
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| Multi-project apartments, spots bubbling
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| Never went to clubs with less than a dozen men
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| Recruiting young gunners and runners, let my cousin in
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| Spot gets knocked, my brother locked the fuck up again
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| Another mama’s son stuck in the fucking pen
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| To disperse, no one to trust, back to struggling
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| Now I’m on the streets trying to get my hustle in
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| Cheap wine guzzling, life is so puzzling
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| Life is a puzzle, every day is a struggle
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| And we ignore the ones who truly loves you
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| As we do foolish things we see the others do
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| I try to do the same things my big brother do
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| Life’s a struggle, we get trapped in this puzzle
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| And we ignore the ones who truly loves you
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| As we do foolish things we see the others do
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| I try to do the same things I saw my brother do |