Been through the storm, through the cold and rain

Everything's still the same

Can't control how I feel

Sometimes it's hard to keep it real

You see the luxuries in life, with the fortune and fame

Like them Cadillacs with sunroofs mayne

So many ways to make a dollar

Huh, sometimes I think about my father

You see my poppa was broke, and my momma was young

Tryin to blend in with them city folk

Every day landlord knockin down my do'

Wonderin where my next blessing is comin from





My momma and poppa, moved to the U.S. as Jamaicans

Struggled to get visas and green cards through immigration

Though my pop was po', stayed away from crime and malice

Hard living gave him hard hands and callous

As a young'n, peep how much they loved each other's space

His hard hands rubbin against the pretty skin of my mother's face

Dig for treasure 'til his hands looked like hands of a junkie

So coarse, slap a mule and take the life from a donkey

On the other hand, mommy was the type to work two jobs

Never enough money, that's why I got your whole crew robbed

Got older, developed ways of grippin the steel

Barely home for me to see her, or get a good cooked meal

Seek refuge in the alleged land of the free, lookin

Blendin in with city folk, down in Flatbush Brooklyn

Feel a little of my pain, follow and sing to it

Homey I seen it all, if you ain't knowin I been through it

In other words I









Got a little older, late teens, me and my crew would huddle

On the corner late nights, plottin to escape struggle

Nights got cold and still would hustle in the same place

In front of Pancho Delis, now the freeze up on a nigga face

1987 Reaganomics ever curious

to visit other cities, out of town kick was serious

Guayanese jeans bounce, put whatever slinger on

Whatever slinger came back, quickly brought me right along

Nigga ran away from home

Doin different wild shit, just to put a pair of Filas on, 'Didas on

Wreck is all for the good, gettin into shit

Like we innocent, actin older than should

Walk around broke in the hood, watchin all the rich niggaz

These younger thugs who try to choke and try to get niggaz

Thinkin 'bout my mom and pop, while I'm monopolizin

To hell with just gettin by and economizin

It's kinda hard bein humble in the belly of struggle

Doin things that probably get you in trouble

That's why we stay up on the block, gettin money while we keepin it safe

In front of churchgoers keepin the faith

Mom and pop be worryin for they son

Despite they struggle and their honest livin look and see just what I become

A scavenger, in brute pursuit to be happy, another young'n that's wildin

Across the line until somebody tryin to cap me - ohhhh shit 





I been through the storm

Through the cold and rain

Everything's still the same

Can't control how I feel

Sometimes it's hard to keep it real

Woooooooooooooo-whoahhhhhhhhhhhhh

Yeahhhhhhhhhhh-ohhhhhhhhhhhhahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh