(aka... confessions of a poor baby.. ) I was born in these streets.. didn't have no mama.. came up straight through the concrete.. guilty.. with a profile places me at the scene of every crime.. never had a time when everything was fine I was born across the line, aint had to cross it.. didn't have it to lose it so I never lost it, .. don't ever walk up in here talking that cross-sh-it.. he died for me so I could put up with this bullsh-it? .. beat you to death with that muthafuckin pulpit.. if you wasn't from these same streets.. facing these same police.. crying over your same neice.. my girl.. stray bullet.. this world.. no peace.. no love.. just these guns.. these drugs.. and this ambition.. to be above this condition.. wishing to bring the good life to fruition.. nothing lying around here but ammunition.. aiming for the top of the top of the bottom as far as I could see.. anyplace is better than where I'm standing presently.. like Hova, I could be king of this world and that simultaneously.. clean but dirty.. dirty-clean.. with my own beyonce living the american dream.. It all starts right here.. under a lamp-post with my hand closed.. in 3 to 5 years I could be a millionaire, doing 35 years.. or closed-casket.. family crying "why didn't I" tears.. but what choice did I have?.. man you saw the videos.. how a ordinary nig-ga like me go'n get them kind of hoes? had to make my move.. to show and prove.. and live up or down to all these muthafucking tatoos.. you saw Kanye's shoes.. sh-it.. gotta make my money baby!.. ends don't mean what you think they mean when it come to that green.