I'm Good

As a younger age, never really gave a shit

Just my grandma arms, kept me out of harm

Nigga went to class, my football pass

Kept the burner stashed, they ain't gon' catch my ass

In the Pontiac with the bad speakers

Back then? Shit, I was into sneakers

and fitted caps, side kicks

My same bitch, she a down bitch

Had a little daughter, glad it ain't a boy

Knew she'd bring me joy, so I named her Joy

Kiss her on her head, then I kiss her lips

Then I kiss her cheek, lay her down to sleep

Trials and tribulations helped me through my situations

Little observations stopped the cops from confrontations

And the ghetto bird, and a nigga snitched

But I'm still dipping, shit, I ain't tripping

I'm good, I'm good, I'm good, I'm good, I'm good...

I'm good, I'm good, I'm good, I'm good, I'm good...

I'm good, I'm good, I'm good, I'm good, I'm good...

I'm good, I'm good, I'm good, I'm good, I'm good...

(I know I'm not perfect

But I'll still make a decision that make my life still worth it, yea-ea-eahhh

And sometimes it may hurt

But I know what you see ain't what it's gon' be, cause I know my worth, yeeeaaahhhh...)

Got a lil' older, nigga seen a lot of shit

Been out in Boston, even got to see the Knicks

I've been to Dallas, slap a five with the bench

Back to the hood where niggas betting on the six

But shit is crazy

Lil' Teisha and Tamika bout to kill they babies

Pregnant at the same time, and they think that shit is cute

Always running from the truth, bigger dream they must pursue

And they babies wasn't in it

Just going bout they business in the club

She off of Guinness, adioses with the lemon

V.I.P. she dreams of, in the club looking for mean buzz

In a dress looking distinctive

got that ass hanging with the biggest baller in the club

Ain't got a dub, but she want some love

Wasn't polite, but she feel it's right

Lay it down, then he dimmed the lights, played it right for the night

Uh, ignorance is bliss, but to know is pain

No matter what we reap, we still sow the same

The concept of change is second-rate to change

Either way around, the cycle still remains

Out my project window, observing the wannabes blowing endo

Shooting dice on the corner, big homie roll up with his kinfolk

Unfold a stack on 'em like, what they hitting for?

Slamming the doors on his Benzo

He left the engine running, bumping something sounding like

late eighties R&B, trunk full of China white

Type of nigga ladies like, known dope dealer

Money, cash, hoes getter, slash stone cold killer

He can't sleep at night, his victim's eyes piercing through his soul

He wake up every time his eyes close

That's who them young boys aspire to see

Underneath the palm trees, that's who they dying to be

But I'm good