Black Boy (Explicit) - Young Greatness

Lyricist：Theodore Jones/Chad M. Wells

Composer：Theodore Jones/Chad M. Wells

Producer：Chad Williams

Yeah

Two two two two two two two two two two

Street short

No no no no no no no

Every n**ga from that seven

Grind like they gotta win

They say my name even when that gang grind gang grind

B**ch I'm from the gutter I deserve to shine

I deserve to shine shine shine

At long nights thinking shooting with a K

This sh*t f**ked up my city crying everyday

City crying

Young black boy he wanna run like Ricky Waters

Ricky Waters

But he dead broke on the block

And he selling quarters

Man what would you do if your grandma

Didn't have money to pay the cable cable

Ever see your best friend die right in front you

Die right in front you

Ever seen his baby momma cry right in front you

Cry right in front you

Heard of yall december walk

Full scholarships

Man that's kinda f**ked up

Hood politics politics

It's cold in my city streets

Cold in my city streets

She f**ked up she

It's cold in my city streets

Cold in my city streets

Man

Man

If you open your eyes

Then you could see that he grinds so hard

So hard so hard

He hung out in the block

Every night but he still had dreams

Still had dreams still had dreams

For the love of the money

Love of the money

For the love of the money

Love of the money

He lost everything everything

He had a vision

Running all them dime plays

But he got f**ked up trapping in them hallways

Everyday he prayed to make it out

Make it out

But he had to choose a hustle route

Hustle route

Dirty sox dirty drawers he wants some new sh*t

So he stayed on that block having long nights

Caught his first body first body

Couple shoot outs shoot outs

Counted bout twenty bands in his shoebox

And the homie was so cold but we'll never know

All they got is his blood on the city streets

City streets

A couple tatted bass where he laid at

A lonely cold blanket where they prayed at

Prayed at

It's f**ked up cause everybody

We love they gotta take from us

And everybody we trust

They take our breath from us

Breath from us

Black ballers from the seven

With a heart of passion

Then they stole all his dreams

For the love of trappin

Jail due n**ga

If your chasing your dream

N**ga your grandma lights cut off n**ga

You ain't never seventeen

If you open your eyes

Then you could see that he grinds so hard

So hard so hard

He hung up on the block

Every night but he still had dreams

Still had dreams still had dreams

For the love of the money

Love of the money

For the love of the money

Love of the money

He lost everything everything

Thing everything thing everything