[Verse 1]
We was posted by the bodega
Backseat full of tired dreams
Homie had a bandana halo
Talking like he really ran these streets
Saw him trade his cap and gown
For a car seat and a court date
Whole block cheering when he scored
Then went quiet at the short wake
[Chorus]
Backseat stories, they all sound the same
Fast cash, fast love, fast lane, then a frame
Everybody claim they wanna leave that game
But the game write the ending, sign it with your name
[Verse 2]
Shorty with the rose gold nose ring
Eyes heavy from a double shift
Said she only dance on weekends
Weekends turned to “just one gig”
She be laughing in the VIP
But her laugh got a little chip
Dreaming of a one-way ticket
Counting tips, losing grip
[Chorus]
[Bridge]
What they really want?
Not a script with a chalk outline
They just want a porch, two chairs
Peace in they mind
What they really chase?
Not the rumors or the fake fame
They just want a hand to hold
Out of that game
[Chorus]