Coolio

I know a place where the trees don''t grow
Just another place where niggaz live low
I know a place where life is fucked up
Make a wrong move and your ass get stuck up
Time ain''t nothin but a frame of mind
And life is like a mountain or a steep ass 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 shit
African-American, nothin but a nigga
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 nigga 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
Niggaz 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 killer
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 ass 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 niggaz 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 wont 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






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