The Edge

[Chief Kamachi] Yo, the first grandson of Phillip Lee Grew up on the Ave, where they was dealing D Searching for my moms, oh where could Camilla be? My Uncle Upstate, hope they set my killa free Days is dreary, little swollen eyes stay teary Grandmoms died on my birthday, speak of a dearly Until this day, feel like a warm embrace they near me And got me, when this young nigga can't think clearly Inside me, had to be strong from the start Day-by-day but everybody around me falling apart Alone in the dark, wanna put the chrome to my heart With the heavenly weed that I know the angels spark These the things that influenced my behavior Go to Church; probably put a shell in the Savior Worship for what!?! Niggas ain't working enough Was praying to pay my way but I judge for a book Tryna stroll but it seems the world was hurting my strut Don't wanna have to resort to drastic measures I'll kill for a bird with fantastic feathers If I don't get paid off this voice, these classic treasures (Hook) 2x I'm on the edge nigga, like I was born on the ledge Cuz I said "Please" that don't mean to push me to the edge Hard to be righteous but easy to put one in ya head I'm from the slums in Congo, live from this dunya [Chief Kamachi] Yo, I live them Section-8 Housing tales Depressed, chain-smoked over 2,000 L's Hungry miles, with little vials to sell Keep my bear warm in Philly's crowded jail Some ain't coming home or even browsing bells Suicidal, whether we be doused in hell It's strapped in special war, in the middle of blue walls Where they keep human vegetables stored Some genius with incredible scores But than the kitchen crack come send 'em to their ghetto medical store They go crazy, or smoke that Bolivian pure Skies is hazy, is these days we living in war And I wrote this A&R, the infirmary floor From my brothers became broke like they learned to be poor On the edge nigga Man, what kind of world is this? Man, the faggots have stolen the fucking rainbow, man (Hook) 2x [Chief Kamachi] Maybe I'm crazy, never occurred my state blurred from the tropical herb Messing with my optical nerves with the doctors observed Is the young hustler disturbed, got the psycho in me I can see it in my face, immediately I can walk the line of evil, obediently It's getting dim, and I can see my light leaving me Must be the dark spirits and they thievery High on the stoop, wild as Congo Visualize paint, elephant and army suits Don't be drinking orange juice In the white jacket, can't get my arms loose Even the though the nurses was Indians teaching me Kama Sutra Still tryna find the cooch on mama goose, sinning Looking for the zone off in the Ritilin Cuz I'm tripping, screaming "Fuck the police" In the hospital catching on the edge, nigga