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listen to the sound of it
them people working
to get that money
it can’t be all inside my mind
others must see it too
them people working on
the Down Low
dirty jobs that no one sees
corner hustlers on dark streets
all for that ‘Merican Dream
too bad for me
young and restless
stuck in my poppa’s recession
with no where to go
no kinda help
hope is less than lucky
lucky less than fear
fear less than terror
terror at what shall be lost
by the loss of my ‘Merican Dream

all these radio divas, flo’ riders
takin over the masses
no talent in that system
not since back when
thinking about my childhood days
when you didn’t have to be grown
back when you didn’t have to…
dress like they tell you
dance like they tell you
sing and talk like they tell you
you didn’t have to be a statistic
left to drift in the rising numbers
those who are lost
those who are futureless
wish we could go back to those days
I could live then
love then
be all I wanna be back then

funny how they can be “Down Low”
better than we can
hiding in corners to direct us
but I won’t be directed
I’ll let my light shine