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  • (with John Legend, feat. Malik Yusef) [Malik Yusef]
    You know you ghetto boy, when you got a face, with a scar
    And yo' highest aspirations is a place, and a car
    Shorties pull out and bussssst, like a money shot
    Now he on the run, he hot
    And he hurtin his
    Granny and she the only one he got
    The hood so shady
    You give up hope, of ever even tryin to find a sunny, spot- -light, they caught him at the stop- -light, but if he woulda run that yellow
    Then he coulda, run the globe
    But insteed, with speed
    They put one in the middle of his frontal, lobe like a unicorn
    I'm just tryin to keep you, informed
    To my little ghetto soldiers in they, gold green, red, and blue uni-forms - chuuch!
    But I'm feeling like the loneliest monk
    So I pull me a
    Thelonius
    Monk and blew, the horn
    And we don the monikers of goons and gangsters
    And are trained to conduct ourselves true, to form
    So we add a
    Shorty, a
    Money, a Mack
    A Lil', a
    Eazy, or a
    Young to our name
    So all the big ballers grab rims and hung, in the game
    And there's a degree, of difficul-ty to make it from the ghetto boy into the man-hood
    Especially when you know that yo' fresh greens will help eliminated a canned, good
    Can, good, and bad co-exisssst?
    In a place with plenty of off ramps but no ex-its
  • (with John Legend, feat. Malik Yusef) [Malik Yusef]
    You know you ghetto boy, when you got a face, with a scar
    And yo' highest aspirations is a place, and a car
    Shorties pull out and bussssst, like a money shot
    Now he on the run, he hot
    And he hurtin his
    Granny and she the only one he got
    The hood so shady
    You give up hope, of ever even tryin to find a sunny, spot- -light, they caught him at the stop- -light, but if he woulda run that yellow
    Then he coulda, run the globe
    But insteed, with speed
    They put one in the middle of his frontal, lobe like a unicorn
    I'm just tryin to keep you, informed
    To my little ghetto soldiers in they, gold green, red, and blue uni-forms - chuuch!
    But I'm feeling like the loneliest monk
    So I pull me a
    Thelonius
    Monk and blew, the horn
    And we don the monikers of goons and gangsters
    And are trained to conduct ourselves true, to form
    So we add a
    Shorty, a
    Money, a Mack
    A Lil', a
    Eazy, or a
    Young to our name
    So all the big ballers grab rims and hung, in the game
    And there's a degree, of difficul-ty to make it from the ghetto boy into the man-hood
    Especially when you know that yo' fresh greens will help eliminated a canned, good
    Can, good, and bad co-exisssst?
    In a place with plenty of off ramps but no ex-its