My Life 2.0 - Crooked I

1970-something and mama’s in the studio

Pregnant with Dominick while she was doing a song

Until her water broke in the booth

It’s not a joke it’s the truth

From that point let’s move it along

To the fact that my father was a rolling stone

Before we knew it dude was gone

Mama gotta do it alone

Who would’ve known

At the same time that she gave me life she might’ve ruined her own?

Cause she already had a son before me

Living in the big city, she young and lonely

Put her faith in a nigga but his love was phoney

Said he would hold her down while she sung her songs, G

Then he bounced.

put the pedal to the metal

No more record deals, we living in the ghetto

Gangbang, drive-by, homicide, place full of puppets killing each other

Uncle Sam is Geppetto

Five years-old when I seen my first murder

Playing outside, I heard shots from the Ruger

Four or five bullets put the victim in the bushes

Then I made eye contact with the shooter

Ran in the house, told my mama somebody died, I’ll never forget…

It was a white boy from Hoova

All she could say was «Hallelujah!»

«You're safe!»

Then she asked God to protect our future

Life as a shorty shouldn’t be so rough

Got my hat low, white tee on, gun in my waist, I’m a gangsta man

Flat broke, living in the hood, gotta get money so I jumped in the game

So many people I know… get killed like it ain’t no thang

To you it’s crazy, I know!

Real niggas gonna feel my pain

1990-something and mama’s little boy’s growing up

All the thug niggas calling him Crooked

It was a name that she never understood

But in the hood

Negative is positive so Dominick took it

Look at the way that he hang with the older niggas

Man them OG’s gave him a gangster style

A gun in the waist, a knife in the pocket, a pair of brass knuckles

Some mace and even straight razors now

Those… are the tools you use

To survive in the most dangerous place you could raise a child

Mama can’t afford nothing other than Section 8

We’ll escape

One day I’mma make her proud

But now I dropped out of school, sitting in a drug spot

Bagging up weed while my older brother slung rocks

Trying to get paid, watching for the punk cops

If they run a raid, they gon' be up in these gunshots

Take over the world shit, do it like Scarface

Banging on the news, helicopter and a car chase

This is the point where adrenaline make your heart race

Fuck sleeping under the jail cause of a narc case

Wasn’t the life that I aimed to choose

A nigga could’ve been the next Langston Hughes

But I landed in a place

Where you can get shot in the face

By a young banger trying to pay gangster dues

How in the fuck can I change my views

When I have to stab a nigga for trying to take my shoes?

Never won much, but I hate to lose

Only way that you could relate is if you played the blues

That was back when

But even back then

Mama made men out of the boys in the house

And I remember coming home fresh from a shootout

This is what she said with a joint in her mouth

She told me «Life as a shorty shouldn’t be so rough»

This is my life, man.

This is my life.

I was manufactured in the hood, man.

Read the label.

Read the label they got stitched on the back of my neck.

It says «Made in America.»

Ghetto America, ya heard?