We shootin' stars, runnin' from cop cars
I got scars jumpin' metal gates and sharp bars
The hood is ours, save my pennies in a pickle jar
Everyday you see me in a different crackhead's car
So bizarre how so many bullets miss my head,
I told my Mom, that I'm gonna stick with this instead
Fuck the crack rock , I rapped and hit the jackpot
Now I'm on a plane writin' on my laptop
It's all wiggy rockin' city to city
But I still feel my past catchin' up with me
Got more ends, bought my Mom a Gold Benz,
But she worry cuz I still got all my old friends
Hopin' that I slow up and change one day,
But these Hillwood streets got me raised one way
I told my lady one day we gone be like the Brady's
But for now I teach her how to use this three eighty