Growing Up Letra

Yeah, this goes out to all the hoods in the D
Glen Street, 7 Mile, Coney Gardens, School Craft
Just thinkin back on how crazy that shit was
Roamin the block, makin somethin out of nothin
This is my story niggaz

[Verse 1: Elzhi]
Yeah, g-growin up on 12th Street, Rosa Parks
Was a young prodigy who had flows to spark
Surrounded by killers, thieves, pimps, hoes and narcs
Dead bodies in the allies, back roads and parks
My life counted out before I memorized the number chart
In the cold, the block was hot before the summer start
And I was lookin up to Chris Bud and Black Bill
And Curtis for whom I let the yak spill
Heard somebody got knocked but hate chose his path
How the fuck he turned snake like Moses' staff?
Huh? Got to switchin and started snitchin
On everybody in the kitchen, down to the ones' pitchin
You know that go against the code, so they beefin
Where the homeless lookin for something to stick their teeth in
And you could say I was a thief then, stealin out of corner stores
Gettin mines, while ignorin yours
Up in my cousin's tree house, puffin squares
Thinkin about how life ain't easy and nothing's fair
My talent for writtin songs here while hangin with the wrong kids
Who later would live short lives or do long bids
I guess you could say I was saved by hip hop
Young, recitin "+Fuck The Police+, I got my lip popped
Who'd thought I'd rise from the bottom and to the tip top
Rip shop, chillin, while the ceiling on my whip drop
Yo yo, went from hand me down shit to Polo
From Polo to Louie Vuitton, I'm a don
And since my biological left, my mom is gone
All I got is my brother and step father
So I'm a rep farther

[Chorus: A.B. - w/ ad libs]
Life's in our hands, from there we got to make decisions
Either advance or stay inside the Devil's kitchen
Divided we stand, no one can act up the story
It's up to the man to rise and try to find the glory, glory

[Verse 2: Elzhi]
Yeah, yeah, yeah, ha
I made it bitch, get the cock and balls
I'm from a block where niggaz go through rock withdrawals
Poverty debts, folks with a lot of regrets
Blowin smoke, goin broke, off of lottery bets
You got fatherless sons
Lookin up to ballers, when they was smaller they got they dollars in ones
Now you see 'em in they old school Impalas with guns
That go "pop! " but rather pop their collars for fun
'Cause it's wild as a mug (mug), somebody's child is a thug
That can't even show they proud with a hug
Though they help around the house movin thousands of drugs (thousands of drugs)
Just as quick as movin crowds with a slug (movin crowds with a slug)
The reverends say that we headed for Hell
With the same literature read or put on a bed of a cell
Police say we'll be dead or in jail
But like July 4th, I bust up like the lead in a shell
From the same place where niggaz get murdered and became trace
And even if you not a player, got to keep your game face
I'm an example for the youth on the city blocks
That want a nice car, rich fur and pretty rocks, don't stop

[Chorus x3: - w/ ad libs until the end]