Here's the story, of a little boy.
Growin' up in a suburban home,
Trying to cope with everyday life,
Who lives in a little house,
That was built, in the middle of the street.
"Hey, Mom!
Tupac's on the juke box,
so what he shot two cops,
and raped a little girl,
while two dudes watched,"
"Nuh-uh! They were tryin' to frame him,
You wouldn't have Two Pack Shaker,"
"No! That ain't how you say his name, mum!
You're so lame,
Don't you know anything?"
"Yeah!
I know that you'll probably go,
and join in a gang,"
"Yeah, right. Im out
Where's my fuckin' walkman at?"
"Stop cussin' at me!"
"Shut up, bitch!"
"And quit talking black."
Well,
Slammed the door and I'm out,
Now, what?
It's probably warm in the house.
Fuck, I forgot my jacket,
forgot it was winter.
I'm gettin' thinner,
I'm hungry.
Is Mom cookin' dinner?
"Mom!
Let me back in!
I forgot my coat.
Mom, come on, I'm not playin',
It's cold!
Alright, sorry.
I need a jacket,
Mom, look,
My Tupac tape,
I just cracked it,
Ma, please let me back in,
It is Two Pack Shaker,
I just asked him."
I'm freezin', (achoo)
I'm sneezin',
I'm breathin' too much cold air,
I'm wheezin',
"I ain't did nothin',
I didn