Testo Good To Be Home II

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Dead winter in front of my auntie TV
Watchin' BET, I'm lovin' the shit I see
The Nas, Hovs, the Jas, the Biggies, the Puns
They dream of makin' the league, I dream of sillier stuff
School shoppin', we hoppin' from VIM to Conway
And this is right before the internets and MySpace The Facebooks and IG baddies all up in my face
N64 is how I was spendin' my days
Park water fountains, I grew up around Italians
Big boss next door quiet, but he move the loudest
Sittin' at the same stoop until he pass
Smokin' that cigar, never had a job
Never said a word, never did a verb
Only moved his car from curb to curb
Murder shit occur, he heard it first
In the '90s when people were gettin' thrown off rooftops
Pop up in canals, helicopters was too hot
My shorty at the time, she was livin' on New Lots
My best friend was down on Church Ave, like two stops from Prospect Park
Had to be away from Gates Ave before it get dark
Clinton Hill, Fort Greene, where I home my art Myrtle Ave, at the Five Spot, I had my start, yeah
Rollin' up the freestyle, me and my homie Mark
Chattin' 'bout how we gon' be richer than Tony Stark
Sadiq was the Rasta, always rollin' it proper
Never really in school and always holdin' the contra
RIP, brother
We gon' choose to remember you as a peace lover
Where I'm from, everybody got about three mothers
Tellin' us to be careful, look after each other
In the age of the Twitter's fan and cancel vultures
I am 3D, nigga, you never see me
At this point, I'm a pro and you still runnin' with peewee
Never lose sleep over sheep, I'm
Never rollin' over in defeat, I
Don't believe in anything I hear, I
Only trust in half of what I see, I'm
From a dyin' breed, I'm
Happy that I'm me, I'm
Happy that I found a little peace, I'm
Happy mama kept me out the streets, uh
Big Mike cut me every week
Waves spinnin' out the chair and the cypher was complete, ah
I'm the son of a hustler
Know when to cash out, keep it goin', and double up
Sleep like a breast-fed baby inside my comforter
I'm on Myrtle, my brother, alert the trumpeters
Playin' spades and cashin' up 'til the sun is up
Brooklyn nigga, gon' let you know where we comin' from, yeah