Lyric #1

The world around me
A kid growin’ up in high society, gettin’ high to bear society
Gettin’ high to forget society
Gettin’ high to change personality, to erase all propriety
It’s in the blood, live like a king, not a Crip or a Blood
Don’t talk back, don’t talk black, don’t say that or do this or make that attack
On this man, in front of him stand, and be manly to extend your hand
Acceptin’ a gift of true generosity
Because it does not require honesty, just nod your head properly
No need for modesty
Be verbose, Be impulsive, Be cocky
Ignore the outsiders, even if they work harder than Rocky
Cus Balboa ended up poor, ignorin’ Rocky’s 1-4, cus in number 5
All he was left with was a family, a speech impediment, and a pair of black eyes
Ain’t no peas to appease what is spoken to please these black guys
Wu Tang said it best, of Shaolin style, Cash Rules Everything Around Me
If you don’t make it, blow your brains out like Private Pyle
Of the Jacket that was Full, he went to pull the trigger, go figure he quit life unable to make it bigger.
Cash Money agrees, live like a top dog eatin’ only the best pedigree
#1 Stunna, shinin’ to tha death
If it ain’t about the doe, than what’s left?
The struggle, set on stardom, but there is no constellation
In the sky, I look up, there is no second place prize

The world around me
A kid growin’ up in high society, high class, ignorin’ all propriety
People instruct him with abrupt references to mention his dissention
From high class worlds, high class jewels, and high class intentions
Surrounded, an army of fake militia
No guns
No gernades
No generals
Just money and a Visa
But just cus they plastic don’t make them fake
Yea it does
They plastic, they can’t hardly relate
To the struggle
To the emotion: like pleasure or pain
That I instill in these rhymes takin me to the top of tha game

The world around me
A kid growin’ up in high society, high status, labeled in need of psychiatry
Ignorin’ the paralysis caused by the analysis of high class shallowness
Young and white
Called a wigga, or a black look-a-like
Just cus I wear my hat on a slant, to the side, where my armband lies
Just cus I match my colors, head to toe, I am labeled a fly Negro
Yea I like rap, I love to write
Why should it matter what color I am: black or white?
Write just to Write, the only thing white, should be the paper onto which black words derive their might