paroles de chanson Direct From the Ghetto - Trife Diesel feat. Tommy Whispers

[Chorus 1: Sample (Trife Diesel)]
I came, Direct from the ghetto, (Stapleton houses-houses)
Where children don't have shoes on their feet
(And that's real talk, For real)
I came, Direct from the ghetto, (Stapleton houses-houses)
Where children don't have shoes on their feet. (Uh-Uh-Uh-Uh)

[Trife Diesel:]
Pops sitting at the table sip'n on scotch
While Momma at the stove, Yeah she mix'n in the pots
Old man next door he stay fishing at the docks
And the lady down the hall stay snitch'n to the cops
Yo this is a little story on how the hood went
Friday night on the benches everybody getting bent
Flip rolling up the green, Holla at Lorain
She a fiend, Daily customer at two-eighteen
Hustle man selling knock-off Jordan's and fake jeans
True Religion's with the price tag missing, Holes in the seam
After dark, Neighborhood dice games in a little park
Little Mark was ass beat'n from start
I shoulda known cause he didn't pay Elijah when he aced up his Clarks
But then the game got interrupted by a chase from the narcs
You know them sharks keep the hate in they heart
Hand'n out summonses, The niggas drink'n forties in front of the mini-mart
That's how the drama sparked over some tickets, Cousin was twisted
Snubbed the officer, He fell to the ground and reached for his biscuit
Now the hood's on fire, It's flame'n, It started raining
Reinforcements came through pepper spray'n, They wasn't play'n
Neighbors complaining, Watching from the terrace, Mrs. Ellis
That's the hood gossiper, You know she the first to tell it
Who, What, When, And why, Slugs fly, We dodge the pellets
T.M.F. the realest niggas I know, Let's get this relish

[Chorus 2: Sample (Kryme Life)]
I came, Direct from the ghetto, (Stapleton houses-houses)
Where children don't have shoes on their feet
(S.I.N.Y., Welcome to Staten Island-Island)
I came, Direct from the ghetto, (Stapleton houses-houses)
Where children don't have shoes on their feet
(S.I.N.Y., Welcome to Staten Island)

[Tommy Whispers:]
What happened to the double dutch, Now little girls like to fuck and stuff
Little niggas don't play skelly, They like to puff the Dutch
Huddled up, Not to play two hand touch
Under the building sling'n bundles, In the lab cutting up
No more man hunt, The young hood niggas is man'n up
Grams and dust, Whatever they hands could touch
Clutch'n they fist full of dollars, Fifteen and on this Island cause
Momma ain't working and Daddy's broke til tomorrow
Hide and seek, Police now-a-days they play ride and creep
Beep your horn, Rock you to sleep, When the beepers on
Keep it calm, Don't make a sound, Don't make a move
Until I tell you, Lay on the ground, Take off your shoes
What you don't watch the news, Already know how we do
When you come through the ghetto, Hello, Floss'n and gleem'n
You best believe, Bet your last dollar somebody's scheme'n
They want that, They hungry they coming for you money so
Don't play dummy, just hand it off sonny
Remember kick the can, This day in age shorty pitch'n yams
Let alone through a fast ball into the stands
They standing on the corner handing eight balls to they mans
Moms, Anything goes when you knock'n off the bomb
Quicker they pack on, Faster they back on
Selling crack is they damn job, Rubber bands and black cards
The world is a ghetto the ghetto is that large-large

[Chorus 2]

[Sample x2]