[Intro]
I'm sure everybody has their opinion
About what happens in the ghetto or why people act certain ways
Ya know, but you can't truly know unless you live there
It's like a Catch-22 situation, ya know
It's, it's like you don't like it, but you have to understand it (uh huh)
It's rough
It's not as easy some people wanna think
It's hard. It's real hard (I know)
[Hook]
C'mon, uh
Yeah, another day in the ghetto
Mm, uh, well alright
Yeah, another day in the ghetto
Uh, yeah, well alright
[Verse 1]
Niggas killin' niggas, whatcha figure with your finger on the trigger
You could be a bigger big-money, big-willy gettin' nigga
It's a shame the way you live, you give grief
All things must change so when will we have peace
(A peace of what?) Of a mind in this country
I'm really sick and tired of hearin' "Mama I'm hungry"
Or "Mama please tell me when will Papa come home?"
Papa never comes home, papa's a rolling stone
Hey, sometimes I picture selling drugs but then again
I known a friend who sold drugs in the fed pen
So I just sit back and bounce and count the amounts
And young brothers die from a drug dealer's ounce
Of coke or dope, that some little black kid smoke
Might as well pass a rope, so we can hang ourselves
Get a gat and bang ourselves
Killed another brother, and just damn ourselves
I'm sure everybody has their opinion
About what happens in the ghetto or why people act certain ways
Ya know, but you can't truly know unless you live there
It's like a Catch-22 situation, ya know
It's, it's like you don't like it, but you have to understand it (uh huh)
It's rough
It's not as easy some people wanna think
It's hard. It's real hard (I know)
[Hook]
C'mon, uh
Yeah, another day in the ghetto
Mm, uh, well alright
Yeah, another day in the ghetto
Uh, yeah, well alright
[Verse 1]
Niggas killin' niggas, whatcha figure with your finger on the trigger
You could be a bigger big-money, big-willy gettin' nigga
It's a shame the way you live, you give grief
All things must change so when will we have peace
(A peace of what?) Of a mind in this country
I'm really sick and tired of hearin' "Mama I'm hungry"
Or "Mama please tell me when will Papa come home?"
Papa never comes home, papa's a rolling stone
Hey, sometimes I picture selling drugs but then again
I known a friend who sold drugs in the fed pen
So I just sit back and bounce and count the amounts
And young brothers die from a drug dealer's ounce
Of coke or dope, that some little black kid smoke
Might as well pass a rope, so we can hang ourselves
Get a gat and bang ourselves
Killed another brother, and just damn ourselves
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