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[Verse 1] Bear witness to the greatest who never made it But still get mentioned when the topic gets debated Was subjugated to strays invading my domain Wasn't concerned with writing phrases for y'all amazement My upraising was abrasive, my early years The atmosphere's the subject of rhymesayers Who wouldn't dare go near there So let me your ears here, listen up Let's peel back the top layer Where you're from you give 'em a blank stare Cause if you say "nowhere" they gon' ask you where you live And once you tell 'em "over there", you getting popped anyway You might as well bang back and rep the section where you stay That's the project mindstate, kill or be killed So why wait? The hurdles too high So we boost the crime rate Victim of self or victim of state? Either way, this rhyme book had to wait [Hook: Scratched samples] "Allow me to re-introduce myself" "Gotta talk about my life" "I'm from the hood, I'd never turn my back on it" "Until then, my feet planted on the ground" [Verse 2:] I use the streets as my muse, I'm Langston Hughes Explaining my views in Corduroy house shoes House full of goons, ski mask and duct tape Frustrated cause the coke price fluctuates Dope spots get shot up, the riders stay And shoot back, the faint of heart relocate It's sorta poetic justice in a way A beautiful tragedy, a Shakespearean fantasy Revenge, this is Hamlet sanity Pardon my upbringing I beg your amnesty Poluted air, contaminated, infested Poisonous gas spread like the staph infection Hatch the seed, inception A dream within a dream Within a dream things are what they seem The fear of falling won't stall him From stomping through the guards like Joseph Stalin Sleep cautious [Hook:] [Verse 3:] I be over niggas heads when I rap about the hood As simple as that is, it's still misunderstood I ain't touch the lost Tribe of Kush or Prescott Bush Pushing the button on Germany's push for dominance Basking in O'Solomon’s ambiance A Watts prophet, writers workshop Where biters body-rod started after the Watts riots In return gave birth to Hip-Hop Then the feds burned it down, cremated the literature Thought they got rid of it, but its a permanent fixture in a bigger picture In the grand scheme of things Somewhere between Nat Turner and Martin King Lies the dreams of an inadequate teen Whose mommas a crack fiend yet is powerful beyond means His only fear is himself, so he keep a pistol on him in his belt Just in case he runs across a mirror He 'gon kill 'em