| Here’s the story, of a little boy
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| Growin' up in a suburban home
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| Trying to cope with everyday life
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| Who lives in a little house
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| That was built, in the middle of the street
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| «Hey, Mom!
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| Tupac’s on the juke box
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| So what he shot two cops
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| And raped a little girl
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| While two dudes watched,»
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| «Nuh-uh! |
| They were tryin' to frame him,
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| You wouldn’t have Two Pack Shaker,»
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| «No! |
| That ain’t how you say his name, mum!
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| You’re so lame
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| Don’t you know anything?»
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| «Yeah!
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| I know that you’ll probably go
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| and join in a gang,»
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| «Yeah, right. |
| Im out
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| Where’s my f*ckin' walkman at?»
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| «Stop cussin' at me!»
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| «Shut up, b*tch!»
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| «And quit talking black.»
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| Well, slammed the door and I’m out
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| Now, what?
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| It’s probably warm in the house
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| F*ck, I forgot my jacket
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| forgot it was winter
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| I’m gettin' thinner
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| I’m hungry
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| Is Mom cookin' dinner?
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| «Mom! |
| Let me back in!
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| I forgot my coat
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| Mom, come on, I’m not playin'
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| It’s cold!
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| Alright, sorry
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| I need a jacket
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| Mom, look
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| My Tupac tape
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| I just cracked it
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| Ma, please let me back in
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| It is Two Pack Shaker
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| I just asked him.»
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| I’m freezin', (achoo)
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| I’m sneezin'
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| I’m breathin' too much cold air
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| I’m wheezin'
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| «I ain’t did nothin'
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| I didn’t say «I'm leavin',»
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| I said «I'm goin' on the front
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| Porch to get somethin',»
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| (scissors cutting)
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| «Alright, here.
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| Take your damn coat and leave,»
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| «Finaly!,
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| Mom! |
| You cut off the sleaves!»
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| Our house
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| In the middle of the street
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| Our house
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| In the middle of the street
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| Our house
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| In the middle of the street
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| Our house
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| In the middle of the street
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| One, two, three
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| My teacher’s two faced
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| She went to lower my school grades
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| Since Last Tuesday
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| I had a toothache
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| from kool-aid
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| So Mom kicked me out, (get out)
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| And, all i had in my suitcase
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| Was one shoelace
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| A tube sock
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| and a tube of toothpaste
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| Sometimes, it was cool
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| «cause I could go to a friend’s
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| Crash there
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| Fool around and just skip school
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| But other times
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| I’d rather just be home
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| In my own room alone
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| Read my shit and nobody would know
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| My little brother s*cked on a bottle
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| 'Til he was six,
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| So I’d hide it inside the couch
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| And say «I don’t know where it is,»
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| But as soon as Mom found it
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| I would either be grounded
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| Or kicked out the house
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| A thousand weeks
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| And still countin'
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| Even when I was underage
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| Mom was tellin' cops
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| I was tryin' to run away
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| I told her
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| «Someday, b*tch, you’re gonna pay,»
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| Please, Mom, Please, Mom, Please, Mom
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| I wanna stay, (let me stay)
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| Our house
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| In the middle of the street
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| Our house
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| In the middle of the street
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| Our house
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| In the middle of the street
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| Our house
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| In the middle of the street
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| My brother’s incoherint
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| Mom’s a single parent
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| Who ain’t carin'
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| Starin' through me
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| Like I’m transparent
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| Made it clear
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| That I was just there
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| to run an errands
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| Told her friends
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| I was a son from her last marriage
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| Sent me up to the little corner store
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| with a little note
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| «Please, sell my step-son
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| Some cigarettes so I can smoke,»
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| One time I tried to fake sick
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| To get attention
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| Back-fired
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| Mom, sent me to school
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| With a vengence
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| My life’s the worst thing that
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| Could ever happen to me
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| I go to class
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| and every teacher’s always laughin' at me
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| And Mom says white rappers are laughed at
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| Not only that
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| She heard me upstairs
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| I can’t rap
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| and I’m stupid
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| I never make an average
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| of a B
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| I need to sit on my ass and sue people
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| Like she does
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| One time, I got food poison
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| From a hot dog
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| Mom sued and got $ 2,000
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| From Ballpark
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| «Hey, Ma. |
| You got a dollar?»
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| «I don’t think so
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| Now keep an eye on your brother
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| I’m goin' to bingo.»
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| «But, Mom. |
| You said you were broke.»
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| «Who said?
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| You got your ears messed up
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| from that damn rap music.» |