| 作词 : Maurice Shadee Clarke | |
| 作曲 : Fabrice Ferrando | |
| A king broke with dreams and baring my soul naked | |
| Losing it hope it seems | |
| While seeking this road pavement | |
| Take yo time wit' it, time wit' it | |
| Slow paces | |
| When ya best friends turn into them old faces | |
| When ya main one, switch | |
| She ain't got no patience | |
| No more checkin' in with you | |
| No more probation | |
| I'm really tryna do it different than my old man | |
| Papa was a rollin' stone | |
| Yea he was a cold man | |
| Never made it home for dinner | |
| Bless the food and holds hand | |
| Typical brown man story | |
| But, centered around glory this time but, | |
| [Chorus] | |
| We glow and we climb | |
| We seek and we find | |
| Everything in our mind | |
| Get it out on the road | |
| x2 | |
| ‘Cause I done seen it all mayne | |
| Neighborhoods, where they all bang | |
| On the corner, shootin' dice, playin card games | |
| Where you from, who you be, what you representin' | |
| On these blocks, on these streets, man that's just tradition | |
| Careful where you sittin' | |
| Careful where you kickin' | |
| Know how to maneuver from the roota to the toota | |
| Finna swerve on ya ass | |
| Never stop thuggin' | |
| Throw the work in the grass | |
| When the cops comin' | |
| Whippin' work for the cash | |
| That's goin' from the first to the last | |
| But, I ain't judgin', I ain't judgin' | |
| I was at that table | |
| Brickin', bandin' | |
| Really on the grind, wit' my mind, on a different planet | |
| Some won't understand it | |
| 'Cause you're doin' damage | |
| To your own community, but sort of got immunity | |
| 'Cause you just tryna change your situation | |
| What it used to be | |
| More than usually | |
| [Chorus] |
| zuo ci : Maurice Shadee Clarke | |
| zuo qu : Fabrice Ferrando | |
| A king broke with dreams and baring my soul naked | |
| Losing it hope it seems | |
| While seeking this road pavement | |
| Take yo time wit' it, time wit' it | |
| Slow paces | |
| When ya best friends turn into them old faces | |
| When ya main one, switch | |
| She ain' t got no patience | |
| No more checkin' in with you | |
| No more probation | |
| I' m really tryna do it different than my old man | |
| Papa was a rollin' stone | |
| Yea he was a cold man | |
| Never made it home for dinner | |
| Bless the food and holds hand | |
| Typical brown man story | |
| But, centered around glory this time but, | |
| Chorus | |
| We glow and we climb | |
| We seek and we find | |
| Everything in our mind | |
| Get it out on the road | |
| x2 | |
| ' Cause I done seen it all mayne | |
| Neighborhoods, where they all bang | |
| On the corner, shootin' dice, playin card games | |
| Where you from, who you be, what you representin' | |
| On these blocks, on these streets, man that' s just tradition | |
| Careful where you sittin' | |
| Careful where you kickin' | |
| Know how to maneuver from the roota to the toota | |
| Finna swerve on ya ass | |
| Never stop thuggin' | |
| Throw the work in the grass | |
| When the cops comin' | |
| Whippin' work for the cash | |
| That' s goin' from the first to the last | |
| But, I ain' t judgin', I ain' t judgin' | |
| I was at that table | |
| Brickin', bandin' | |
| Really on the grind, wit' my mind, on a different planet | |
| Some won' t understand it | |
| ' Cause you' re doin' damage | |
| To your own community, but sort of got immunity | |
| ' Cause you just tryna change your situation | |
| What it used to be | |
| More than usually | |
| Chorus |
| zuò cí : Maurice Shadee Clarke | |
| zuò qǔ : Fabrice Ferrando | |
| A king broke with dreams and baring my soul naked | |
| Losing it hope it seems | |
| While seeking this road pavement | |
| Take yo time wit' it, time wit' it | |
| Slow paces | |
| When ya best friends turn into them old faces | |
| When ya main one, switch | |
| She ain' t got no patience | |
| No more checkin' in with you | |
| No more probation | |
| I' m really tryna do it different than my old man | |
| Papa was a rollin' stone | |
| Yea he was a cold man | |
| Never made it home for dinner | |
| Bless the food and holds hand | |
| Typical brown man story | |
| But, centered around glory this time but, | |
| Chorus | |
| We glow and we climb | |
| We seek and we find | |
| Everything in our mind | |
| Get it out on the road | |
| x2 | |
| ' Cause I done seen it all mayne | |
| Neighborhoods, where they all bang | |
| On the corner, shootin' dice, playin card games | |
| Where you from, who you be, what you representin' | |
| On these blocks, on these streets, man that' s just tradition | |
| Careful where you sittin' | |
| Careful where you kickin' | |
| Know how to maneuver from the roota to the toota | |
| Finna swerve on ya ass | |
| Never stop thuggin' | |
| Throw the work in the grass | |
| When the cops comin' | |
| Whippin' work for the cash | |
| That' s goin' from the first to the last | |
| But, I ain' t judgin', I ain' t judgin' | |
| I was at that table | |
| Brickin', bandin' | |
| Really on the grind, wit' my mind, on a different planet | |
| Some won' t understand it | |
| ' Cause you' re doin' damage | |
| To your own community, but sort of got immunity | |
| ' Cause you just tryna change your situation | |
| What it used to be | |
| More than usually | |
| Chorus |
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