the saga begins i m a reflection of the drama within the ghetto i live in niggas moms on crack pops just disappeared first time you get locked up who really cares i see a little snotty nosed kid with his sneakers on backwards sleep on a mattress when i go to make a sale at times i wonder are we goin straight to hell or does god realize we re tryin to make it as well my sleep is interrupted by food on the stove not gun shots we re immune to those some of my friend s first bids is two to fours others are on the run with huge rewards mothers watch son s walk through the door for the last time til they go view at the morgue life is deep we all just tryin to eat rap s a mental narcotic i supply the streets look at my life you see white coke and black roses and tear shed for passed soldiers we all walkin a path chosen from the cradle til the casket s lowered i still got the black ski mask to throw on but i can get richer off the tracks i flow on i d be lyin if i said i wasn t hustlin no more life ain t fair shorty pregnant with nowhere to live sleepin in a crack house cause she don t got no relatives her friends wanna drink brew and beef about whose sale it is now she s gettin hungry she could smell the marijuana seen the picture vividly as if picasso s spirit entered me starin at the heavens secluded in a tinted jeep but sick of hearin eulogies i realize my nigga blue is a reminder of my past like greek ruins yet his seek keeps bloomin unaffected by police intrusions or street illusions we were consumed with i ve even grown away from people i grew wit who only seem concerned when they need me to do shit my mood could switch easily from smooth to ruthless we ain t built the same so mind games are useless times change like the climate i change check the forecast i reign  live niggas i rep for deceased i pour moet for those incarcerated my heart is wit y all i know at times it gets hard behind penitentiary bars and once free you realize you re mentally scarred if not physically if subjected to correctional facilities prepare for your future to the best of your ability prosper otherwise you ve been conquered blowin up your mother phone so she can send you a bop son i sit inside my residence and thank god i m blessed with this poetical gift evident in every ghetto like graffiti and crack sales and cabs who won t stop for black males undercovers givin younger brothers bad stares fours clap dogs crap in the grass here you love to hear cause the saga began here and mc s are fictitious yet there s actual facts here like the bible said jesus had napped hair 