Lyrics Made It - Young Scooter

I made it through that struggle, struggle
I grinded out that gutter, gutter
This a letter to my momma
I never had a fuckin' father
Ain't no mo going broke, ain't no mo' going broke
Ain't no mo going broke, ain't no mo' going broke
I made it through that struggle, struggle
I grinded out that gutter, gutter

Woke up broke 1000 times
No days off, stayed on the grind
You convicted of a felon you can't press rewind
Had to think like 50 Cent, get rich or die trying
For this Black Migo shit my life is on the line
We made it out the struggle, through them hard times
Juugin in that gutter gutter under them power lines
I do this shit for my lil brother its like his kids mine
Got me stressed out cause he fucked up facing all that time
And its crazy cause he just had him another child
And I got two myself, and I take care of my niggas
I take care my family, now the world understand
Me

I'm thinkin' white hoodie, white shades
White J's on white snow
White Buggati and a white Ferrari
With white diamonds on white gold
White grill, white Benz
Rolling around with my white friends
White fur and the right rims
You say my name and you write in
I'm no fan of him I got the ammo in
You wanna handle him and who stand with him
I got the Lambo' in, I'm in the Mandarin
I got the mask on I'm Rip Hamilton
Shawty acting like a mannequin
I told her quit with the shenanigans
She said she gone key my car
I'm still never gonna be your man again
See murder in the trap is a boobie
Young Scooter and Gucci
So many Maybachs out front niggas think I'm rolling with Pucci
I ain't taking no jewelry off, you gone cock nigga come shoot me
I ain't ready for the old murder then
What you gonna do with the new me? (Whoop!)

My daddy could die today and it still won't mean shit to me
Six years old why I ain't have shit to eat?
My stomach empty balled up, I can't get no sleep
Couldn't wait to go to school, that's my meal all week
Used to watch from the nosebleeds, now I got floor seats
Used to catch rides, now its foreign four seats
A 350 bands, that's a four-four a week
My momma called my phone, talked to my daddy last week
He heard I got a song on the streets called Colombia
My daddy smoke Colombia, so daddy I don't fuck with ya
My momma raised a hustler, momma was a hustler
Gotta thank my momma, had to move her out the gutter