Lyrics

Back in the days when I was a teenager Before there was "Mictlan" before I had haters (fuck em') You can find Mike in a hat that said "Raiders" (right) Pops used to say "Stop dressing like them gangsters" That never left it always stayed with me So I stayed alone I strayed from home I bond to make amends where the pages bend Out run the outcome Son strong wind tunnel Down pour when the droughts done Build me up to break me down Divvy up Hate Me Now 82 to 8-outs to 80thou' Baby steps pay me pounds I'll wash my hands and walk away Clean Money, Team Hungry, Dirty Style The Ghetto is cold all that glitter ain't gold They say you're better at home You (I) need to get on the road That's where my heart's at It's either dead or it's gone Never let it get old Walking Young Corpse With a Veteran's Souls Cuz My Strife Is all I have And yeah This Life Is all I got And if I do right Then it ain't my bad But if I do wrong I hope I get what I got coming And I put that all behind me As in behind the scenes Where nobody else can find me Fuck That! A Mexi-can can't sell? Don't sign me!! This Independent Hustle pays off So we keep grinding But they say us Chicanos are too political They'd rather see us in Lowriders Acting stereotypical Don't get me wrong I've been on the block in Low-Lows Watching Po-Po's taking photos Of tattoos off Cholos Ain't nothing glamorous Seeing your people treated like animals The Ghetto is not Fabulous In Los Angeles the cops are in on it Cocaine and Trafficking Immigrants Through the Mexican Border But they can't deport all of us Swimming through dirty water Those "wet-backs" ain't citizens Till they come with 16 years of labor dividends I was always a "spic" wiping my face clean from spit Smile when I'm pissed Then cleaning the blood off my fist