Trying to appeal to the ignorant with songs for the pure
Still chasing girls draws, open doors, late calls, text messages
I figure if I blow its more effortless
Raised by two immigrants
Taught I should be a gentleman
Moved from Nigeria to America
I guess by definition they're true African Americans
Road trips to Maryland with Ayo the don make sure you stash all the medicine
We know all the laws of the land but we young and negligent
Spitting over songs like there ain't no one we ain't better than
I'll show the world if the money right
Made it sound like a muffler I put cans on my old bikes
Zoning out in the basement I was writing the whole night
Spit my 16's to hustler who were trapping and sold white
It's like a dream when I think of it now
Those were the days still writing it down
Reminisce spit my verse then I see how it sounds
That's soul music
Chorus -Zena Kitt
Life keeps on moving
Life keeps holding
And I know the story well
Eyes wide open
My heart is bleeding
And I know the story well
You see were not the same
Verse 2
Lost love but had this attraction to being street
My fitted turned back my pants would drag down under my feet
My homie use to keep a 380 stashed under the seat
But that's some other sht because of the statute won't state his government
Talking to girls at the party hope that they fall in love with him
People shoot up the party I guess its time that I run again
Track star in the back block fences were hurdles
No guns then run far n***as get murdered
Hit the block and talk about it twisting blunts of purple
Blast my music on the strip we don't listen to sht commercial
Hood radio the stuff I be spitting way more relatable
Bright colors on sunny day's I'm looking flavorful
Arguments and freestyles at night woke up the neighbors too
Just my ghetto point of view
My life should be on pay per view
Happy because the struggles we overcame and I made it through
So in these songs all I give to you...