Harsh Realities (167 Reprise)

Lyrics

[Emilio Rojas] Yeah, I saw a woman get hit on Amsterdam, she tryna cop her some shit Right across from the barber shop, a car on top of her head That Columbian Presbyterian pronouncin' her dead She died the first time the needle ever punctured her skin Now are we citizens or immigrants? They ain't fill they census in In the middle of criminals, hopin' to get a legitimate business in No minimum wage, now they be givin' them minimum sentences If they gonna live in a cage, well then they family gonna live better, shit Now my incentive is to keep my people wealthy Eatin', organic, I keep my people healthy Leaky, Titanic, them freaky women love me Young Hispanics in galleries up in Chelsea Ah, what the fuck you mean I ain't nice? I'm lightning and strikin' twice, excitin' as any vice I got you beggin' me for your life Until your knees lookin' like the fuckin' Passion of the Christ Where they be doublin' bags half price Keepin' an eye out for the vice or when the D's pass by Life a crap shoot, we rollin' them stacked dice For bills that are past due, hoes that are stacked nice 'Cause we advocates for savage shit, Impalas always passin' it Piojos always staggerin' 'cause you could get a bag for ten The high is now even if tomorrow cancerous Don't worry about the future when all that's holdin' is jowl or death We holdin' shallow breath, all of my people are lookin' at whips And chains like if that's success but they can't pass the test She 16 and showin' ass and breasts 'Cause mama said fuck a bachelor degree, go get a bachelorette And start a family, don't start a career, yeah That's the mentality for daughters up here, yeah The latest block gossip, man, that's all that you hear Like, "Yo, who fuckin' who?!" and "Who about to get cheers?" It's all addictions and convictions and ritual superstitions Botanicas on the corner with rosaries in the windows Pastors don't give a shit about Jesus's crucifixion 'Cause they be gettin' they money from skimmin' out the collections Sinners with imperfections, agendas and hid intentions Bitches is whippin' Benzes, we Section 8 on they rented Kids that ain't know they father, the odds have been stacked against us That's just the way that we livin' on 167th