Heroes

[Verse]
Brenda’s baby is grown
While I’m out here watching a throne
Trying to reach thugging teens with a poem
Maybe go from unknown to people saying Stimuli done blown
The eff up guess what
I just sound like a clone I’m sorry
Spitting it raw but shifting my course
It’s been 15 years without Mister Shakur
And if you think about the shit that he saw
I hope the pictures I draw can come close
‘Cause I give you my all
It’s real
It’s funny to hear my flow
Never dreamed I would be getting money to bear my soul
Thinking bout the times and the hoods where we reside
Shit is wild Brenda’s baby’s like twenty years old
Pac thought the world was cursed in '91
Felt the adverse of the slogan live by the gun
I’m still stuck in this game he tried to run
Well he did kind of run it I’m sad his time is done
But the issues he was bringing up, stories that he gave
Are the issues still facing us
Call us mental slaves
I ain't talking just blacks, in the hood we all the same
The government sees statistics so Brenda’s kid has no name
Father is her cousin
Grandmother punks her
She hears plenty stories bout being left in a dumpster
So she’s not supposed to make it
The ghetto should take her under
You expect her on the pole or something since nobody loved her
Mama died prostituting
No one heard her cries
Pac was busy yelling Hit Em Up
When she was turning five
We was worried bout the coastal war
Picking choosing sides
Bad Boy made noise
Then our biggest heroes died
It was like we lost the Malcolm and Martin
Of our young generation they was just getting started
No arrests even made when there’s rappers that’s targeted for assassination
They ain’t even pressing no charges it’s messed up

The country is falling, disease is spreading
My people are dying, economy’s hurting the seeds are embedded
With pain and desire to try to get the cheese the bread
The papers, the dollars, the politics are keeping us dead
And the labels are losing and Youtube is winning
The students are stupid, the teachers ain’t getting no pay so they missing
The president’s different, he tells us his vision
But then television is probably killing the minds of the children
The brothers are niggas the sisters are bitches the rappers are liars
The mamas are babies the babies are crying
You hear it, thee alarm clocks are going off
Y’all not listening, little girls are showing off
They big tits and they asses
The shit’s sickening, pastors are stick pricking the catholic little kids
And I’m rapping this slick shit while the
Haters are stabbing the teens are slicing
America’s chuckling at us, while we rocking our ice and
We think we get money, we making it rain and we paying the strippers we popping the bottles the owners get richer
They owning the clubs, and they owning the drugs and they owning the liquor We taking the shots and they keeping the picture
It’s real, the music is weaker the albums ain’t selling
We talking bout nothing the albums ain’t selling
We talk about hustling, clapping and selling
And half of us was really clapping or selling I used to rap like you I was seven