Chicago lyrics

So, I figure I should tell you a little bit about myself

Since you don’t really know, anything, about much at all, that’s what i’ll do

Gather round children

I grew up round them white kids first—paranoid like a crackhead

A blemish in they world, yeah, I was just a blackhead

Proactive, they put me with them smarter kids, I didn't care

I was just mad that I was the darkest kid with thick hair

And they stared, like I was not suppose to be in there

I grew up, mama living like Kadeisha and miss Sinclair

That’s single, she didn't like to mingle with her kids there

And when they tried to woo we brought the Whoo ! like Rick Flair

No chin hair, what was I eleven nigga?

And that’s when you decided that yo kids would come second nigga?

Just barely walking and you still just kept it stepping nigga?

Now that’s some sick shit, what is you a leper nigga?

See that’s the type of shit that make not respect a nigga

Just know the debt you owe is looking real hefty nigga

Nah, I ain’t mad, I just said that for the record nigga

Nah, I ain’t mad I just said that for the record nigga

But I digress and reminisce on days after he left us

When honey buns and flaming hots was healthy breakfast

When micros and kinky twists gave hell to edges

And them girls in your class started wearing heels and wedges, ahhhh

Sounds good don’t it?

I know somebody out there like “it sound hood homie”

But the hood was all we had, and we made good from it

Especially them D-boys, I know they made good money

Made good dummies, start selling that wet work

Cause we see them stacking paper like cubical desk work

They see through like wet shirts

They grandmamma chest hurt

Her heartbroken, cause the streets done got up in ‘em

They rocked the uniform: white tee, 5 pocket denim

Nikes, no clocking in

But they working that nine to five

High key they don’t know better, buy trees

And go and choke like rabbit first time at the shelter, I see

A people stuck in they ways, no it’s not just a phase

They see a future in tomorrow, they are stuck in a daze

And I am fucking amazed

At how these wack niggas spit the way they Dunkin is glazed

See that’s sweet nigga

But I got it hot and ready for the street nigga

Your soul starving, so I prepared you a feast nigga

So get them headphones to your ears, and eat nigga

I’m vegetarian, but it is full of meat nigga

I’m trying to take it cross country, track meet nigga

Then hit the mall like I’m hitting athlete figures

I actually figured, that I’d be harder than this

I’m just warming up, but they say that I’m sautering this

I think I’m fathering this, my seed come through the pen

I’m trying to bust in another life I ain't fucking no bitch

And I can’t fuck with no snitch

Keep my name out your fucking mouth

Unless you talking bout me, or sucking this dick, aww

I try to let this beat fade like newly washed denim

But got on my Scrappy Doo, just “let me back at ‘em “

I’m trying to know this game, just (uh), let me back catch ‘em

Just let me direct ‘em , like traffic lights

And I'mma take ‘em higher, much higher than your average flight

And give ‘em mouthfuls much bigger than your average bite

And show ‘em how I’m much flyer than your average kite

And now they grabbing tight

But I’m just picking them off me

Writing these death certificates, Killing them softly (aww)

• Artist:Mick Jenkins
• Album:Single (2013)