Gangs

Intro

(Heavy, ominous beat kicks in)

Yeah, we in the trenches, where the streets raise kings,

Ain’t no fairy tales, just the hustle and the bling,

Red and blue flags wavin’, but the war ain’t over,

Welcome to the struggle, where the strong devour.

Verse 1

I was born in the ghetto, where the system designed,

To keep us trapped, but we grind, we shine,

From Compton to Chicago, it’s all the same,

Ain’t no love for the streets, just the game and the flame.

Nikkas die ‘bout colors, but the cloth don’t pay bills,

Mamas cryin’, but we still throwin’ up them pills,

Youngins wit’ burners, think they invincible,

But the cops ain’t playin’ fair, they shoot first, ask questions after, you feel me?

We the product of the hood, the streets our university,

Ain’t no diplomas, just the knowledge of calamity,

Gangs ain’t the problem, it’s the root of the tree,

Systemic oppression, that’s what we need to see.

Hook

(Heavy, echoing)

This is gang culture, the streets of the USA,

Where the strong survive, and the weak fade away,

From the block to the cell, it’s the cycle we trap,

Tryna find a way out, but it’s hard when you black.

Verse 2

Gangs been around since the OGs laid the flag,

From Crips to Bloods, it’s deeper than a rag,

It’s loyalty, family, but it come wit’ a cost,

Death before dishonor, but that mindset ain’t lost.

We got our own laws, our own code of honor,

Snitches get stitches, that’s the street promoter,

From drive-bys to shootouts, it’s all part of the game,

But when you play wit’ fire, you know you gon’ get burned, ain’t no one to blame.

They say we animals, but they built the cage,

Locked us in the hood, then they turn the page,

Ain’t no sympathy when the bullets start flyin’,

Just another statistic, but we keep on keepin’.

Verse 3

You can’t understand it ‘less you been where I been,

From the bottom to the top, but it’s hard to win,

They send us to prison, but they don’t send us to school,

So we learn how to hustle, that’s the only tool.

It’s a war on our people, it’s a war on our minds,

They give us the guns, but they take all the shine,

We the kings of the streets, but they don’t give us no crown,

So we take what we want, and we turn it around.

This ain’t no drill, it’s the real thing,

From the struggle to the hustle, it’s the life we sing,

It’s gang culture, it’s the streets of the USA,

Where the strong survive, and the weak fade away.

(Beat fades out with a haunting bassline)