Six17 A1 - A1 Prayer

I got popped
I thought I ain't have no prayers
I was in front of a church
God blessed me
I used to pray the we would make it
Skip home room
I was at home
Room smell like crack
That was basic
No food
Fried bologna and cheese
That was how we made it
Eviction notice on the first
Shit we had to face
Pray for me
My city different
We in this shit
It's season tickets for life
Can't make it
No walking no pipe
So many niggas talking
Rest out there is catching them stripes
In broad day they let 'em fly
And sometimes thru them nights it get crazy
730 on the dot
We 730 on the daily
That crime never stop
The city niggas getting popped
Over chains or change
Right hand man want ya claim to fame
This 10 year shit
Last one ain't feel the same
But charge it to the game
Just a young'n filled with pain
My father dead
Sometimes I feel insane
But it ain't just him
I'm losing niggas to this game
I could've been one
But niggas ain't got no aim
Swear god with me
Me and bro cop 300
My cut a buck 50

Written by:
Alan Mack

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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