The Streets, The Hills, The Mountains, and The Flats,

The Trailer, The Apartments, The house, and the Shack.

Up Class, Down to Poverty, food stamps and cash.

Runnin‚ Trials and Tribulations 4 miles in my path,

From the East Coast to the West Coast, to the Mid West to the West Coast , than back again twice,

Waiting for when I'm supposed to pack again.

The Single Mother in the struggle, and the heathen into trouble,

from the Stealing to the Dealing,

Drunk and High behind the whealin, The Kid who would escape when he should try and find his healing.

There is no Hype in this,

For Me there is more than Rap

Because My Life's in this