Trife Diesel, Tommy Whispers, Kryme Life - Direct from the Ghetto lyrics

I came, Direct from the ghetto
(Stapleton houses-houses)
Where children don't have shoes on their feet
(And that's real talk, For real)
I came, Direct from the ghetto
(Stapleton houses-houses)
Where children don't have shoes on their feet
(Uh-Uh-Uh-Uh)

Pops sitting at the table sip'n on scotch
While Momma at the stove
Yeah she mix'n in the pots
Old man next door he stay
Fishing at the docks
And the lady down the hall
Stay snitch'n to the cops
Yo this is a little story
On how the hood went
Friday night on the benches
Everybody getting bent
Flip rolling up the green, Holla at Lorain


She a fiend, Daily customer at two-eighteen
Hustle man selling knock-off Jordan's
And fake jeans
True Religion's with the price tag missing
Holes in the seam after dark
Neighborhood dice games in a little park
Little Mark was ass beat'n from start
I shoulda known cause he didn't pay Elijah
When he aced up his Clarks
But then the game got interrupted by
A chase from the narcs
You know them sharks keep the
Hate in they heart hand'n out summonses
The niggas drink'n forties in front
Of the mini mart
That's how the drama sparked
Over some tickets, cousin was twisted
Snubbed the officer
He fell to the ground and
Reached for his biscuit
Now the hood's on fire, It's flame'n
It started raining
Reinforcements came through pepper spray'n
They wasn't play'n
Neighbors complaining, Watching from
The terrace, mrs ellis
That's the hood gossiper
You know she the first to tell it
Who, What, When, and why, Slugs fly
We dodge the pellets
TMF the realest niggas I know
Let's get this relish

I came, Direct from the ghetto
(Stapleton houses-houses)
Where children don't have shoes on their feet
(SINY, Welcome to Staten Island-Island)
I came, Direct from the ghetto
(Stapleton houses-houses)
Where children don't have shoes on their feet
(SINY, Welcome to Staten Island)

What happened to the double dutch
Now little girls like to fuck and stuff
Little niggas don't play skelly
They like to puff the Dutch
Huddled up, Not to play two hand touch
Under the building sling'n bundles
In the lab cutting up no more man hunt
The young hood niggas is man'n up
Grams and dust
Whatever they hands could touch
Clutch'n they fist full of dollars
Fifteen and on this Island cause
Momma ain't working and Daddy's
Broke til tomorrow hide and seek
Police now-a days they play ride and creep
Beep your horn, Rock you to sleep
When the beepers on
Keep it calm, Don't make a sound
Don't make a move
Until I tell you, Lay on the ground
Take off your shoes
What you don't watch the news
Already know how we do
When you come through the ghetto, Hello
Floss'n and gleem'n you best believe
Bet your last dollar somebody's scheme'n
They want that
They hungry they coming for you money so
Don't play dummy, just hand it off sonny
Remember kick the can
This day in age shorty pitch'n yams
Let alone through a fast ball into the stands
They standing on the corner handing
Eight balls to they mans
Moms, Anything goes when you
Knock'n off the bomb
Quicker they pack on, Faster they back on
Selling crack is they damn job
Rubber bands and black cards
The world is a ghetto the
Ghetto is that large large

I came, Direct from the ghetto
(Stapleton houses-houses)
Where children don't have shoes on their feet
(SINY, Welcome to Staten Island-Island)
I came, Direct from the ghetto
(Stapleton houses-houses)
Where children don't have shoes on their feet
(SINY, Welcome to Staten Island)