Lyrics

[Intro: Jered Sanders] Everybody blames the monster I've become But nobody blames the people that made me that way [Verse: Jered Sanders] You ever wonder what it feel like? When you startin' from the bottom and you never had a million fans But your homie on the block stash rocks in his timbalands And he bang steel like Caribbean bands You ever wonder what it feel like? When your pops not around and your momma work the night, sleep days Still 'bout to get evicted But dope boys pitching and they new car whippin' like a runaway slave And what it feel like Couple pounds in the trap, paper bag sippin' fifth of crown in the sack Interstate pitchin, couple pounds in the back The vaseline wrap get the hounds off the tracks, huh? And what it feel like Got a bible on the dash, but this real life Grandmomma used to say I gotta get my life together But all I gots' a bogie and a steel pipe I don't need no God speech! From no suburban kids, living like the Cosby's That's why I keep a pistol right beside me Cause a little dark pigment all the cops see Then It's a homi Man, kinda hard feelin' Creflo Dollar and T.D Jakes When all I see is just low dollar, greedy snakes Homies, pitchin' water, move mountains of the tan Or bang five, six, like they countin' with they hands What you know about it, huh? Not a thing But now you tell me your God say I'm a king? Only palaces I seen are for the brick tossers They cribs got more ratchets than a WIIC office And they'd rather be shot, up in a grave Than locked, with bigger time Than clocks, from Flava Flav I'd rather be in a box than in a cage Holy water? We need more than a drop to get us saved Teacher giving us stress, the block giving us strife Papa a rolling stone, the preacher don't give us Christ Pitchin' packs on the corner, look at Miami Vice The grams high, for keys the Judge giving us life Then we pray to the Father, the architect of the vision The vision kinda divided, making the wrong decision Crying after the gavel, now your homies is snitchin' He lyin' after the battle, we fire, somebody get him Cause it's payback! I know some top **** from way back You get your pockets patted, never say jack Send a couple to your temple you get laid flat Hit your temple on that temple that you pray at A rough city, nobody could scruff with me in Virginia Money talk turn into buck fifties Then Macs bust, you in a black tux, spiffy Not a gun, pun, you better run, son, Diggy But It's God in me And Mary, Mary, hallelujah [?] my city They want the Maserati and they palms itchy They hands high, baptism come from my city Cause you get wet and go to God when you get lined quickly But instead of blaming these crap schools They rather blame all the black dudes and rap fools They rather tell me I'm bad news When they the reason that the packagin' sacks move and fast food The crack's cool, homies in cac-oons Straps boom, and cats packin' the mac in the trap's cool "Homie, I'm only tryna be that dude", but man "Good job, I need that too" I used to watch Sesame Street and all Captain Crunch grubbin' transformers down the hall Max Box collectables, Big Wheels galore Hoppin' from couch to couch like It's lava on the floor I rock with Vegeta from Dragon Ball Pokémon too, I wanted to catch 'em all But in my hood, the heroes just trap or ball And down the block, it's probably a strap involved You saying God forgive me for slackin' off? Cause I'm getting tired of back and forth They always blame the monster I become But never think of the reason it started off The villain