Where I'm From Songtext
von Beanie Sigel

I′m from the mean streets of Philly where niggas trying to kill me
Ain't no real homies left, I can see it clearly
Feds run a nigga down half a century
If I get booked, the whole Prop better mention me
Independently, my name in parenthesis
After every sentence, an apparent comes eventually
When your time stop, fuck a calm spot
It′s better than a pine box, show me no sympathy
When they imprison me, just have my books straight
Commissary's fat, tell J better visit me


As you can see, can't switch my game, it′s the ninth inning
I got three strikes pending
Crackers in the mountains got me cutting my braids
All off, no fade, but can′t cut my ways
Cutthroat niggas jealous, green like relish
Cause I'm getting the mustard, fuck it, ketchup
You broke, but that ain′t what they tell us
If you wrote, bank tellers, niggas, where's your notes? Nope
I can′t see 'em, B Sig, Scrap, can′t be 'em
Commissary's stacked, visits every weekend

I make power moves, S. Dot shower shoes
We still rock the state skippies in the shower room

All I got is fucking time in the zone
They got me Bin Laden status, record cell alone
Must I remind you niggas what a thug about?
Red light′ll find you and shine through your mother house
Four lethal weapons, scrap Danny Glover out
Baby Wop, Mack, hunt and whack, tray snub him out

Yeah, rub him out, OJ glove him out
Wop wasn′t even loud, bullets just coming out
Cops yell "move the crowd", dead body coming out
Rakim and his kids if the nig run his mouth

I was raised at the block where my name at
Ghetto where the sun don't shine and where it rain black
If you don′t hit who you aim at, that bloodstained pavement
Will tell the stories on how them niggas came back
Everybody named Scrap, cops get flamed at
The block where they pop pills, sip the purple rain at


I could take you through a tour on the Ave
Where bad bitches lose they ass from the raw in the glass
Most niggas get rich off a four and a half
Then go broke, fall victim to the straw in the bag
Where niggas lose they life over dice
Don't stop in the bank, they shoot for the six
Get shot with the eight, blocka, where they keep the dope and the rice
The dro in the jar, the coke in the ice, the blow in the bar

The gangstas is locked, the haters is home
Rats on the block, feds on the phone, walk with me, come on
The county is packed, receiver room crowded
Real niggas keep a wack and wear they boots in the shower
Faggot niggas play they hunt and never come to the yard
Niggas scream aloud "Wak Bar" and hit up the God

Where we live for today cause we ain′t promised tomorrow
Where I'm from, all we know is go hard and go hard