...To the things I'm doing for dollars
You said: "Boy, you better watch your back
Your pops in jail, remember that"
Momma it get like that
You said: "Don't call me for no bail money"
Thought I could call for anything
I thought you cared for me
You said: "Keenon, keep that bitch out my house"
I said
You said: "This your place?" Nah, this is Section 8
Smacked me like bah, "you little disrespectful nigga"
Like mmm... momma you lucky, lucky I can't hit ya
"You gon' treat me like this? And you know I have seizures
You know I take pain pills for headaches and fevers"
Damn, now I'm feeling less than a man
Cause you birth me and I was actin' like I couldn't understand
I'm sorry momma...
I'm sorry momma, I know I ain't shit
I know I lied a lot, I know I ain't slick
Your last dollars...
Yeah, that was me who stole 'em out your purse
(What?) yeah, I know it hurts
I remember days we used to go to church
I used to fall asleep, that shit used to work your nerves
I remember when you had surgery
You're like Superwoman in my eyes
You do a lot to be blind out of one eye
But you ain't let that hold you back
You on your marathon and run your laps
I broke into houses and sold stolen things for you
I know that ain't the type of things your son should do