On My Way to Harlem

I know a place where the trees don't grow

Just another place where niggas live low

I know a place where life is fucked up

Make a wrong move and your ass get stuck up

Time ain't nothin' but a frame of mind

And life is like a mountain or a steep ass climb

I've been lookin' for a place to leave

The only free place is inside of me

So let's take a trip, and you don't need a grip

But you better be equipped 'cause it might be some shit

African-American, nothin' but a nigga

Had our fingers on the trigger, but I pulled mine quicker

I know a place where there ain't no calm and

You better stay away if you're soft like Charmin

South Central, Los Angeles, Watts, and Compton

A nigga on the West Coast on his way to Harlem

♪

Now it's time to step into the light (light)

Put up your dukes, there's gonna be a fight (fight)

And when it's time to fight, you better fight right

'Cause if it don't fight right, out goes the light

Take a close look at what I'm freakin' on

Niggas think I'm tweakin', but I'm speakin' on

Subject matter, data, information

That I gather through my travels

'Cause the hardest of the hard, hit hardcore killer

Can't stop the slug of a nine millimeter

Everybody thinks they know, but they know not

If they haven't caught a cap on the block

So shine up your boots and pick up the pieces

Grab a fresh pair of khakis with the sharp ass creases

Ring the alarm, here comes the storm

I got a firearm on my way to Harlem

♪

I know a place where the sun don't shine

Everybody is a victim of neighborhood crime

I know a place where niggas walk the line

One false step and they must do time

Since I'm in the same boat, I must stay afloat

And sing every note from the quotes that they wrote

So, I look into the past and walk the path of the greats

So I won't make the same mistakes that sealed my ancestors' fates

If I had to be a slave, I'd rather be in my grave

If I get in, how many lives could I save?

One, two, three, a hundred, a thousand

My heart is pounding, the devil keeps soundin'

But he don't want my money, he wants my soul

So I reach like a tree, and like a weed I grow

My stomach is full, but my mind is starvin'

Rollin' in a G-ride on my way to Harlem