Wino - On My Way To Harlem lyrics

Verse 1: I know a place where the trees don't grow Just another place where n***as live low I know a place where life is f**ed up Make a wrong move and your a** get stuck up Time ain't nothin but a frame of mind And life is like a mountain or a steep a** climb I've been lookin for a place to leave The only free place is inside of me So let's take a trip, and you don't need a grip But you better be equipped cause it might be some sh** African-American, nothin but a n***a Had our fingers on the trigger, but I pulled mine quicker I know a place where there ain't no calm and You better stay away if you're soft like Charmin South Central, Los Angeles, Watts, and Compton A n***a on the west coast on his way to Harlem Verse 2: Now it's time to step into the light (Light) Put up your dukes, there's gonna be a fight (Fight) And when it's time to fight, you better fight right Cause if it don't fight right, out goes the light Take a close look at what I'm freakin on n***as think I'm tweekin, but I'm speakin on Subject matter, data Information that I gather Through my travels Cause the hardest of the hard, hit hardcore k**er Can't stop the slug of a nine millimeter Everybody thinks they know, but they know not If they haven't caught a cap on the block *gunshot* So shine up your boots and pick up the pieces Grab a fresh pair of khakis with the sharp a** creases Ring the alarm, here comes the storm I got a firearm on my way to Harlem Verse 3: I know a place where the sun don't shine Everybody is a victim of neighborhood crime I know a place where n***as walk the line One false step and they must do time Since I'm in the same boat I must stay afloat And sing every note From the quotes that they wrote So, I look into the past and walk the path of the greats So I won't make the same mistakes that sealed my ancestors fates If I had to be a slave I'd rather be in my grave If I get in how many lives could I save? One, two, three, a hundred, a thousand My heart is poundin, the devil keeps soundin But he don't want my money, he wants my soul So I reach like a tree, and like a weed I grow My stomach is full, but my mind is starvin Rollin in a g ride on my way to Harlem