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    Freeway / Lyrics

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    "Victim of the Ghetto" Lyrics

    Freeway

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    Lyrics

    Ch
    Down in my area, chk a chk uh.. real shit nigga uh
    It's the ROC
    Yeah... Free... yea uh feel me.. Pa pause
    Yo.. yo

    I was born in west but migrated to north
    Remember cold nights grindin' AK and a toss
    Four door for the stick up boys if they want war
    Fiends comin' all night all I heard was four more
    Rocks in the cap
    When it was jumpin' me and Rell hit dances
    You could pick me out the crowd rockin' the cap
    But things change
    'Cause my man Rell fightin' a body
    On state row where it's so cold
    Rockin' his blues
    I roll with the ROC
    Still trynna rock at a show
    Shit ain't like 98' niggaz pockets is low
    Which way do I go?
    Indictments blew over
    Man whipped a few shoulders
    Shovel nick boulders gettin' it slow
    Me, I'm in the studio switchin' the flow
    Changin' the styles
    My son and daughter need pampers
    'Cause they just shittin' them up
    And changin' the size
    My man Just quipped the Jags
    See the change in his eyes

    [Chorus:]
    And I eat, sleep, buy, sell - drugs
    'Cause I'm just another victim of the ghetto
    When I rob, steal, lie to get money, bust slugs (shots)
    'Cause I'm just another product of the ghetto

    [Rell] This is how it goes down in these ghetto streets
    [Rell] This is how it goes down in my neighborhood
    [Rell] This is how it goes down in these ghetto streets
    [Rell] This is how it goes down in my area

    My man blingin' platinum wheel, platinum gat
    Took a trip down south came back with platinum caps
    I'm still trynna write platinum raps
    But made a slight change from verse one
    Started jugglin' packs
    It's like I'm travelin' backwards
    Rewindin' the time
    Putting four on nine
    Must be outta my mind
    (uh) nine, get it outta my palm
    Just grab four and a half get it outta my trunk
    Free we need you at the studio
    Out to lunch - out on the block
    These niggaz just pulled out on my man
    And the only rock I worry bout is right on my face
    We bout to go shake, rattle his block (shots) with no plans
    Shots fired, cops came
    But I'm a grown man
    I stick around till my clip is empty
    Cops threw me on the ground
    When my clip got empty (shots)
    Now bars is all I see a thug is all I'll ever be

    [Chorus:]

    I got, 11 in I was facin' a dub, got nine left
    My click show love they write back
    My cousin M's son, little Di he's so grown
    Said he hold chrome, run blocks, and write raps
    Wrote him right back
    Told him I control the bones
    Try to play the phone
    We could rhyme and hold wax
    Leave that drug shit alone
    Don't forget you grown
    It'll put you places where your mind can't get you back from
    Little nigga ain't write me back since
    Still supply the jail
    L. Pridgon you got mail
    It's probably all the letters you wrote him
    What you mean?
    All the fucked up shit you told him
    This shit from my cousin Emily I'm quotin' (uh huh)
    Right out her letter
    Little Di, got popped in the head trynna steal a nigga leather
    That's what the cops said but the streets could tell you better

    [Chorus:]
    This song was submitted on November 28th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Leslie Pridgen, Yvette Davis, Roosevelt III Harrell.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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