To: Anonymous - From: The Kids

From the kids of the street:

Fuck you nigga.

You heard me.

Fuck you, Nigga.

Wow nigga
how nigga
now nigga

tell me how i'm supposed to rise above the violence and strife
when the smell around me cuts like a knife
when none of the my brothers' fathers call my mother their wife
when the game pins my ambition tight like a vice
tell me how i'm supposed to live my life.

school's out prison's in
it's where i'll find my closest of kin
doin time in the joint for smokin' a joint
mothafuckas i know you got my point man

held up in cuffs like scotland yard
playin' the trump card; rat
me out i'm beggin you please
my homies'll have screamin 'don't' from your knees
just be thankful i'm smokin' those trees

make 5.50 to work, lose 10 from welfare
you do the math like sebastian telfar,
couldn't count the numbers on the fuckin' contract
even if he could make the shot after contact.

so hedge fund your bets trustfunders
and let the system pull me under
pregnant by 15, addicted at 20, dead at 40,
damn sure MY record never made no royalties
still holdin tight in my pocket to my false sense of loyalty

to the streets.

so fuck you nigga.

you heard me.

fuck you, nigga

- the youth