Verse 1-Mom slaving over stove flipping hoe cakes me bro posted on corner ducking from snow flakes, cause it's cold world and living broke ain't cutting it, and for every item purchased its seeming we needing oven mitts,~ where shots fired equal shots fired, if mela-nin, in ya skin, then cops eying, brick road in a brick house brick man's masonry skills'll lay them bricks out dip down, praise God for another day of living u ain't end up as a victim or a number in da system wit da o.g.'s reminiscing bout they life before da prison, cause decisions of they youth putting bars on they caboose, train of thought must've derailed, break it down cook it up, that's for retail, make a drop rob da spot that's a resale, u in it u know da business u knowing what's coming wit it the sickness of poverished living da tenement been afflicted no matter what tool u carry yo problems it ain't gone fix'em, the ghetto living senseless as panhandler missing they cup, treating a nigga like a plac telling us to hang it up,

Hook-Off course and ain't no way stop it, they say da sky's the limit so I'm sliding in da cockpit, to live presidential might remember what my ma said, u gotta hold da key to success like a locksmith,

Verse 2-We grow up, we get old, we want cash, we want gold, he want food, so he stole, he got caught, he got thrown, in them chambers wit dem strangers, make yo changes, or be famous, face in papers, no obituary pages, just another nigga nameless in this game it's rather suitable for beautiful to perish, by demerits, of da skin, that we in, when they set-ting da bar, i pull up, to da chin, and even sinful, we praying our ends grow, be it Eddie or Carl, they just hoping our wins low, dropped Barbie in hood, that corrupted my kinfolk, seems we drawn to no good cause in hell where we stencil, y'all don't know what I been through much stress on my mental so I forge wit this pencil keep emotions from my e-y-e, show love for those approaching hands and knees they plead, dying of thirst how they act so I whisper c.p.r. hoping I can bring'em back

Hook-Off course and ain't no way stop it, they say da sky's the limit so I'm sliding in da cockpit, to live presidential might remember what my ma said, u gotta hold da key to success like a locksmith,

Verse 3-Young niggas is dying, and reporters telling it, da government getting their money but ours is irrelevant, called the c.i.a. to gather intelligence they told me fact of the matter is all fact is rather relative, can't measure success by using your nations ruler cause it's like rule of thumb that he's probably a prostituter, out for pursuit of profit get it popping in oval office but hit the block get it popping then officers won't get up off us, we got our arms out like battalions reaching for stars pursuit of unattainable curse tainting our hearts, luxury of fast cars and a barrel of broads so fly we barrel roll with no intentions to stop, til we plummet like bad gambles in stock, still keep us a stock loaded should they give us a shot, taking chances whether they give it or not, first key to success was learn to pick thru locks