Ghetto Bastard


Everything's gonna be alright (alright)Everything's gonna be alright (alright)Everything's gonna be alright now (alright)Everything's gonna be alright (alright)


Back Home Up
Smooth it out.
This is a story about a drifter
Who waited for the worst
while the best lived across town.
Who never planned on having a 'someday'.
Why me, huh?
Some get a little, and some get none.
Some catch a bad one, and some leave the job half done.
I was one who never had and always mad.
Never knew my dad. Motherfuck the fag!
Where? Anywhere.
I did pick up, flipped the clip up.
Too many stick-ups 'cause niggas had the trigger hiccups.
I couldn't get a job-- nappy hair was not allowed.
My mother couldn't afford us all; she had to throw me out.
I walked the strip with just a clip.
Who wanna hit ? They got 'em quick.
I had to eat.
This money's good as spent.
A 'do in braids. I wasn't paid enough.
I kept 'em long 'cause I couldn't afford a hair-cut!
I got laughed at. I got chumped. I got dissed. I got upset.
I got a tech in the banana clip--

Was down to throw the lead to any tellin' crackhead.
I'm still livin' broke, so a lot of good it would've did.
Or done.
If not for bad luck, I wouldn’t have none.

Why did I have to live the life of such a bad one?
Why when I was a kid and played, I was the sad one?
And always wanted to live like just a phat one?



A ghetto bastard, born next to the projects.
Living in the slums with bums.
I sit and watch them.
Now why, Treach, do I have to be like this?
Mama said I'm priceless. So I am?—All worthless, starved?

That's just what being nice gets.
Sometimes I wish I could afford a pistol.
Then though-- last stop to hell—I would’ve ended things a while ago.

I ain't have jack, but a black hat and knap-sack.
War scars, stolen cars and a blackjack.
Drop that?—and now you want me to rap and give?

Say something positive?
Well, "positive" ain't where I live.
I live right around the corner from West Hell ,
Two blocks from South Shit, and once in a jail cell.
The sun never shine on my side of the street, see?
And only once or twice a week I would speak.
I walked alone.
My state of mind was home sweet home.
I couldn't keep a girl.
They wanted kids and cars with chrome.
Some life.
If you ain't wear gold your style was old.
And you got more juice than dope for every bag sold.
Hell no!
I say there's got to be a better way.
But hey—never gamble any game that you can't play.

I'm slowin' ,and flowin' ,and gonna know when, and not how.
How will I do it?
How will I make it?
I won't, that's how.
Why me, huh?


My third year to adulthood-- still a knucklehead.
I'm better off dead, huh?
That's what my neighbor said.
I don't do jack but fighting-- lighting up the streets at night.
Playing hide-and-seek with a machete-- sets like Freddie's swipes.
Some say I'm rolling on-- nothing but a dog now.
I answer that with a "fuck you" and a "bow-wow".
'Cause I done been through more shit within the last week,
Than a fly flowin' in doo-doo on concrete.
I've been a dead beat,
dead to the world, and
dead wrong since I was born.
That's my life.
Oh, you don't know this song, so don't say jack, and please don't say you understand.
All that man-to-man talk can walk. Damn!
If you ain't live it, you can’t feel it, so kill it, Skillet!

And all that talk about it won't help it out, now will it?
And Illtown, fell like you-- stuck up, propped, and shot.
Don't worry,
he got hit by a flurry and his punk ass dropped.
But I'm the one who has been labeled as an outcast.
They changin' schools. I'm the misfit that will outlast.
But that's cool. With a fool smack him backwards.
That's what you get when you're fucking with the ghetto bastard
If you ain't never been to the ghetto,
Don't ever come to the ghetto,
Because you wouldn't understand the ghetto.
So stay the fuck out of the ghetto!
Why me? Why me ?


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copyright OGSCL 2003