I know a place where the trees don't grow
 Just another place where niggaz live low
 I know a place where life is fucked up
 Make a wrong move and your ass get stuck up
 Time ain't nothin but a frame of mind
 And life is like a mountain or a steep ass climb
 I've been lookin for a place to leave
 The only free place is inside of me
 So let's take a trip  and you don't need a grip
 But you better be equipped cause it might be some shit
 African-American, nothin but a nigga
 Had our fingers on the trigger, but I pulled mine quicker
 I know a place where there ain't no calm and
 You better stay away if you're soft like Charmin
 South Central, Los Angeles, Watts, and Compton
 A nigga on the west coast on his way to Harlem
 Verse 2:
 Now it's time to step into the light (Light)
 Put up your dukes, there's gonna be a fight (Fight)
 And when it's time to fight, you better fight right
 Cause if it don't fight right, out goes the light
 Take a close look at what I'm freakin on
 Niggaz think I'm tweekin, but I'm speakin on
 Subject matter, data
 Information that I gather
 Through my travels
 Cause the hardest of the hard, hit hardcore killer
 Can't stop the slug of a nine millimeter
 Everybody thinks they know, but they know not
 If they haven't caught a cap on the block *gunshot*
 So shine up your boots and pick up the pieces
 Grab a fresh pair of khakis with the sharp ass creases
 Ring the alarm, here comes the storm
 I got a firearm on my way to Harlem
 Verse 3:
 I know a place where the sun don't shine
 Everybody is a victim of neighborhood crime
 I know a place where niggaz walk the line
 One false step and they must do time
 Since I'm in the same boat
 I must stay afloat
 And sing every note
 From the quotes that they wrote
 So, I look into the past and walk the path of the greats
 So I wont make the same mistakes that sealed my ancestors fates
 If I had to be a slave I'd rather be in my grave
 If I get in how many lives could I save?
 One, two, three, a hundred, a thousand
 My heart is poundin, the devil keeps soundin
 But he don't want my money, he wants my soul
 So I reach like a tree, and like a weed I grow
 My stomach is full, but my mind is starvin
 Rollin in a g ride on my way to Harlem