Verse 1: 
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