another day on these streets, gotta sell these bricks
gotta stay to take one last breath but the airs too thick
i scream louder than i ever could on a mic
but made no progress, like a guy with a dyke
people now adays dont hear what you say
they stay to themselves, but end up like tim mcveigh
we all end up dead, no matter what you say
we all have bills to pay till our dying day
only way to get by is to do shit under the table
the government knows us like a fable
but were down in the hood strippin cars an sellin weed
we try to get rich by scribblin rymes in the mead
but just like life no one hears our voice
to them we sound like mice, but to survive is my choice
to me if your still rhymin ur still breathin
but when you quit, you might as well be heavin
and coughin up blood with a gunshot wound to the chest
but ill never be great, cuz ill always be second best