Praise

[Verse: Jus Allah]
I am from a broken home
No doctors, no folks at home
No father home, papa was a rolling stone
Sitting in the dark, burnt out, copper tone
At eight, that's great weight on your collarbone
I was so livid, can't put a pig in lipstick
[?] vivid, it was no picnic
Being black, lack of options
Bad synopsis
If I had a matchbox that'll match boxes
This is middle ground, meet the [?] you down
You get the kills for the best deals in town
No lobster or salmon
This is not the Hamptons
It's a lot of famine
[?]
Short lived poor kids with gun powder
In under an hour
We call 'em 1-800-flowers
Drugs and guns, struggling loved ones
Ain't nobody got the deluxe sums and trust funds