Текст песни Granny's Couch - Tony Tillman

Back when I was in the hood I used to try to figure out,
How to get some paper quick and get up off my granny's couch.
Local jobs didn't hire felons so I took the bandit route,
Started selling crack and sack of weed from out my granny's house.
Bought a 25 and copped some packs, head got big cause now I got this strap.
Hitting licks you know I'm down with that, hit the block not far from round the tracks.
Adams ave I'm tryna make some moves, paranoid don't wanna make the news.
'Til the day I heard the call of God and then I smartened up like I went back to school.
Just another lost soul on that side, throwing signs and banging on the west side.
Rude boys them die to get respect and eying somebody's necklace hanging like a necktie.
Blowing smoke just tryna cope to live, was either that or overdose on pills.
Low on doe so we were broke for real, thought selling dope would buy my folks a crib.
Now most my homies either goners or they hit them corners tryna keep the rent paid, Life's a hassle feel they have to hustle til they shackled down like Kunta Kente'.
Renewed my mind was glad to rearrange, flagrant two I had to leave the game.
Freedom riders never freed of pain, free my dawgs it hurts to see em chained.
Back when I was in the hood I use to try to figure out,
How to get off granny couch and move into a bigger house.
I done got up out the hood and now I'm tryna figure out,
How to get my hittas out, how to free my hittas now.
The hood's like prison we all some lifers, all got raps I ain't talking cyphers. Homeboy can barely buy his daughter diapers, he bout to jack son I ain't talking Michael.
I'm talking bout hands up don't make a
Sound, run what you got homie lay on the ground.You can get shot better not play around, ain't got no hope so he stay on that brown.
Lost and never seen as prospects, rejects, never gonna leave the projects.
Respect, hold it back and you'll get popped at, anything can turn into a cause to cock that.
Welcome to the Lockness, watch where you stepping, land of the lost dreams home of the reckless.
Watch who you mess with, he prolly got weapons, got nothing to live for and no
Fear of death, God bless him.
City gentrify the house they rent they moving out ain't got nowhere to go,
Police come through on some bogus stop and frisk so crooked cops is all they know.
Mama work can't get the raise on minimum wage, she skipping bills for food and clothes, Had to sell the furniture to pay for lights so now we sleeping on the floor.
I know that story all too well boy, all too good, cause in the hood ain't no fairy tales boy.
No hope and so they giving up right there, they live in a nightmare, some of 'em rather go to jail.
And that's, window pain through my window frames, I'm praying the good Lord will bring 'em change.
And free 'em from the prisons they got in their brains, I hate to see my people in them chains.
Back when I was in the hood I use to try to figure out,
How to get off granny couch and move into a bigger house.
I done got up out the hood and now I'm tryna figure out,
How to get my hittas out, how to free my hittas now.