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After all these years the hate he sees still burns.
And the ugliness he sees makes his stomach turn.
There’s the crack all on the sidewalk.
There’s the crack all in the bag.
And the women sell their self for crack,
Then turn all into hags.
He never has no money, it makes him want to steal
Then they wonder why it is, that he chose to deal.
The state sent him a letter
They said he owed some cash
He didn’t pay his taxes,
For that ounce of grass.
Over in the building, where they sing of promise land
Satan’s all up in there, taking what he can.
He aint looking for the answers
He found them on his own
But no matter where he goes
He’s out there all alone.
Don’t you come all up on him sideways, trying to be so quip
Don’t you waste your time with that, it’s best that you just quit.
He doesn’t need to do his mother.
His daddy was no punk.
Don’t you tell him He’s your brother;
There’s too much baggage in “your” trunk.
After all these years, the hate he see still burns
The ugliness he sees makes his stomach turn.
What is it that’s your problem people?
Does this not suit your game?
Well it really doesn’t matter none
He’s your ghost without a name.
You ever see him on the corner, or down there on the street?
Just hope you never have to see the ghost, when life has got you beat.

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