Mine & Yours

[Verse 1] This chicks works for fifty dollars a session She hangs around street corners, fucking is her profession She works every day, and every night But even getting to the streets is a fight In spite of this, her projects are getting infested She gets neglected, selling her body only to be disrespected Because she can't hang with a gang, or sell cane She wears a small jacket, and speaks with a slang She has one daughter, and one son And they both depend on her income Besides them two, love she don't get none She's encircled by needles, starvation, and guns Her apartment is swissed by bullet holes, her hood's crime is outdone But in the long run, she ain't getting nothing Everybody wants to be somebody, like she wants to be something Raped at youth, and ever since she's been struggling [Hook] The world is in your hand Make it everything you can [Verse 2] The time for her are too hard to continue She asks her self all the time what has she gotten into The bittersweet streets are struck with poverty She's living on the dime, and has to feed two war babies This lady is living in a state of terror She knows rock bottom because all her life she's been there She could get killed in error, or get raped again Through the days the devils change shapes and blends Giving head to men, she doesn't know any better She can't do much, she dreading on a fetter Now she gotta worry about something called aids If she was young forever, she'd do it for the decades She can barely decide between living in poverty or to commit suicide She's cried, swallowed her pride, lied to bible scriptures She sees the TV loaded with sex, violence, and glitter Reflecting her life but in a more luxurious way Her work is not for the gain or pay, but to survive through the day The paranoia stains and pains her brain As the days come, she notices her life lane is getting strained [Hook] [Verse 3] She can't find a decent part time job Other brothers peel caps, throw jabs, and rob The project is marked by violence, It's an ugly subculture Where streets run loose with dealers and hustlers Young kids stealing jewelry, like livestock to rustlers Her front door witnesses dark nights, and crack rocks It hears the sounds of poverty, and mac shots She's only doing what pays her If she's lucky she could get a guy who's rides a benz, and wears a blazer A man wearing sparking black dress shoes Maybe a man who's breath is marked by booze She's illegal, the streets are her workplace It's getting more dangerous, now she packs a twenty two just in case