Murs - Think You Know Me lyrics

[Chorus:] You might think that you know me, You know where I'm coming from, You might think everything's all good, But at the end of the day you're all wrong! [Murs:] All blue chuck taylors, blue dodger hat, 85 Regal, my daughter in the back. I'm just a gangsta to most of y'all, On the real we're just hanging on the way to the mall. Week days I'm RN down at kaiser Weekends at church, I'm a youth adviser. Just because I'm doing good I can't forget my roots, I can never feel right in a tie & suit. 501's a plain white "t" and I stay gettin' stopped by the LAPD. That's just life growin' up in south central, I been done move, but it's not that simple. I gotta come back, my grandmomma there, Sometimes it's drama, but I really don't care. Here's my neighbourhood and I love it, Showin' all the little homies you can rise above it! [Chorus:] You might think that you know me, You know where I'm coming from, You might think everything's all good, But at the end of the day you're all wrong! [Murs:] All red chuck taylors and red dodger hat, Posted up at market with a bottle of yack. I'm just a gangsta, that's what they say, But on the real homeboy I just had a bad day. Ten interviews, no call backs, PO askin' me where my job at. I'm an ex-con and it's almost useless, I'm a felon, don't mean that I'm stupid. Got cut up, tried as an adult Lost five years of my life as a result. In the feds I prayed and I read Anything to keep the system out of my head. I read Zinn, Jung, Bukowski You really don't know a damn thing about me. I probably gotta higher IQ than you, These jobs ain't hiring, what should I do... [Chorus:] You might think that you know me, You know where I'm coming from, You might think everything's all good, But at the end of the day you're all wrong! [Murs:] Black dickies, black Cortez, White wife beater, a fresh shaved head. I'm just a gangsta, that's what you thinkin', You see me in the crew, posted up by Lincoln. You see my tattoos, figure why I bother, Really I'm an artist and I got my own parlor Hard workin' father, wife and two daughters, Strugglin', trying to keep our heads above water. I'm a tax payer, I'm bilingual I'm chicano, I'm not an illegal. Tryin' to live your American dream, But you keep judging me about how I wear my jeans. They're 42s, they're starched and they creased I gotta education, I got proper speech. I'm from the streets, I'm not less of a man, Just trying to get by and do the best that I can! [Chorus:] You might think that you know me, You know where I'm coming from, You might think everything's all good, But at the end of the day you're all wrong!