Room With A View

One side of the street is Malone's funeral home

And the other side's a library

Try very hard to picture this shit

Walk through where I live at

Where parents are embarrassed to tell you they raise their kids at

If you need some half and half or an eight ball you could get that

Fuck with little Rodney and you get all of your ribs cracked

In a location where slangin' crack rock is not seen a fuckin' recreation but a vocation

And the sellers and the smokers are both pacin'

Got one eye on Minneapolic PD they both racin'

Three for fifty is the supply and demand

In the twin cities, American heartland

And they been busy, masterminds tearing apart plans

And hoop dreamers ballin' with blisters on their hands

With chains dangling from the rims

Pain strangles them from within

Until a belt around the arm makes the veins stand at attention

I try to block it out with a bed sheet that moonlights as a curtain

Cause I'm not comforted by red and blue lights when I'm hurting

"Mommy loves you", yeah I knew but I wasn't certain

Cause the lenses through which she views life wasn't working

As a boy she told me, "wait for your father to come home"

I'm 24, still waiting for my father to come home

And some parents only touch their children when the whips brought

That's why bad kids to bad shit, just so they can get caught

And get touched; this growing up shit's rough

That's a big part of why we're so mixed up

Shit, we don't have bah mitzvahs

We become men the first time our father hits us

And we don't open gifts up

Sister Regina from across the street is beautiful

But for fifty bucks aint nothing she won't do to you

Used to be premium pussy, now she's used up

For that same fifty bucks she gotta do some new stuff

Whatever it takes to make you pull the dollars out

If you don't intervene then there's a day she'll turn her daughter out

Speaking of kids, I'm fixing lunch for my first born

I had the windows wide open 'cause the weather's warm

That's when the greatest hits of Donnie Hathaway

Got interrupted by a drive-by shooting half a block away

Faheem was I the window, he didn't get hit though

"All praise due Allah"

(X3)

I see all this from the desk that I write my rhymes from

Pen starts to scribble on it's own, my mind's numb

But you could call me modern urban Norman Rockwell

I paint a picture of the spot well