Listen Styles P

[Verse 1]
I gotta few things I wanna ask the Lord
Why my people gotta be so poor, feel me
And why's it so rough when you're young and black
They say you go to jail or get strung on crack
Why the girl have a baby she was twelve years old
Ask the state why the cell's gotta be so cold
And why these niggas here with so many years
Whole family in court crying so many tears
Can you picture us living with hope [hell no]
When the same ones hanging us is giving us dope
Shit, it's hard to get by
I pray to God it's still hard to get by
Just wanna hold my son [my man]
But I can't leave my house until I load my gun
I gotta grab my sword
And when I die I got some things I wanna ask the Lord
Like, why we dying from AIDS
And why on TV it's aight to be gay
Ain't that sorta like my gun got the right to be waved
If I could sit back and watch a whole cipher of slaves
Ask my man where the blacks at
Ask myself where the next Malcolm X at [I don't know]
Is he makin Salat, or upstate like a ape in a box
Am I a human or a fallen angel
Got to pray by myself cuz I'm out of angle
I ain't facin the east, tell the brothers I was shakin the beast
Had the nine and the eight in the streets
Open your eyes, stay wise, cuz even Satan is deep
I pray for a better living
Even though I think I'm better dying
Why, cuz I'd rather hear the angels singing
Why, and I don't wanna hear my people crying, feel me black