(Verse I) 
Word to me I need an intervention, I need another route, pardon the venting I just need someone to hear me out/maybe a Steve Stoute or a Clark Kent, looking at the older heads up on the park bench/and ever so often, the hearts of black men darken from Hennessy Black, Bacardi Dark and…/man we lost ‘em, couldn’t make it upstream, never made it out the creek like Dawson/carrying heat like an arson, bodies on the road, decomposed, couldn’t afford a coffin/no reinforcements, around here no recruiters, drug dealers giving out endorsements/I got a car note, you got a mortgage, our jobs up in the air, we both lost it, like George Clooney/we call each other nigga like Paul Mooney, politically correct? sorry, sue me/not enough loose leaf to document what hides under, my Yankee fitted, the doorag or kufi/coming from Brooklyn like Mookie, the army jacket hides condom wrappers and a sub-machine uzi/hid in the inner lining or under the car seat, my shorty in the car and we don’t got a car seat, forced to hold and save the baby like Weezy F/first Katrina, then Haiti, then what’s coming next?/got a nigga stressed, that’s why I drink a lot, did “Stay Fitted”, automatically I’m going pop/I don’t want to rock, nigga I want the rock, give me the ball, game winning, last jump shot/I ain’t afraid to take it, nor afraid to miss, what wealthy people got in common is them taking risks/I’mma take my chance, drop gems like jewelers with shaky hands from complications of Parkinson’s/forget your cubicles and your offices, constantly harassed by entry-level officers/barely making $40K a year and got the nerve to ask me why I’m standing here/nigga I need to get paper, forget that bureaucratic hard labor, pink slip/said I need to get paper, forget that bureaucratic hard labor, I gotta get…

(Hook) 
I gotta get out of here, out of here/I gotta get out of here, out of here/I gotta get out…

(Verse II) 

Now, you could be from a different walk of life, if you was broke and had to struggle you feel my plight/had to juggle decisions trying to get it right, sleep deprivation through the wee hours of lonely nights/I was hungry, full plate, both hands full, but God never gave me more than I can handle/that’s some real shit, beyond a rap verse, I grab the mic, my nigga rather grab his gat first/make ya money nigga, do what you gotta do, cuz when you’re broke they don’t respect or acknowledge you/I went through obstacles knowing I would get lost and took the rode less traveled, the rap Robert Frost/this is the story arc, epilogue, overview, soundtrack to my life, written from a focal view/I’m who the youngin’s gonna grow up to, so what my predecessors showed me, that’s what I’m showing you/now you could take it with a grain of salt or you could come along all aboard my train of thought/they all wrote me off, called me a lost cause, kept quiet til’ I broke ice like Pauley Shore/this is my story ya’ll, pertaining to my life, so take me as I am, good or bad, wrong or right/so take me as I am, I gotta get out…

(Hook x3)