Sunday, January 11

I can handle it, I’m almost grown
I’m young and fine and can hold my own

Party, Krunk, DJ Sporty
Live fast, Die young, never forty

Prepare for the future, when I see none there
Sling that thing like I just don’t care

Jailhouse house rock, not my fault
Granny says not worth my salt

No fear, no way, no how, I’m da' Bone
No money, no Dawgs, no shorties, I’m alone

White police don’t like black jits
He say, “Help you?” I say “Shit”

Why me, white boy? Not my Pops
All he saw was yo’ prison locks

See potential? Clean your glass
I don’t need yo’ cracker ass

Burn, burn, with all the hate
Moma told me, y’all too late

“Don’t trust no white man in this town;
They only there to get you down”

How you know ‘bout my crew ain’t tight
And who is you to say I ain’t raised right

Good in school? Sho’ I got game
Tho’ slinging “caine is my claim to fame

Tired now, you cramping my style
Go on now, let me thank a while

I can’t do what the white man say
Go to school and make my way

That was not my Daddy’s game
And Moma tells me, I’m just the same

Don’t I look like my old boy?
Flicking chicks like I enjoy

Baby’s daddy, that’s not me
Will never see the penitentiary

Okay, white man, give it a spin
Let’s see what you can get me in

If I get get it, know what I’ll do?
I’ll come right back and use it too

So my Dawgs can see a flick of light
In the world we live it’s always night

I’d be the first in a long, long line
To make a move, to take the time

To trust the folks, to let it down
To show my Granny, to show this town

I can do it, I got game
Make the move, not stay the same
Live a life that may be strange

For Now

Jamie Jackson

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