Crediti
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Crisis
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Carl Urban
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Crisis
Producer
Testi
They say that memories start to fade with time but mine remain vivid. Grew up in the trenches, how can I forget it? PTSD, keep me with heightened senses.
Head on a swivel, shotty under trenches. It made my heart cold, learned to love from a distance. Only time I smiled was Thanksgiving and Christmas.
The other days I had a screw face on a mission.
Serving fiends, pitching cause no food in the kitchen.
Friends dying early or sent to serve time cause some friends didn't have courage, started dropping dime. Vision impaired by pride, thoughts of money on my mind. Posted on the corner, a recipe for demise.
A life of sinning and crime disguised my virtues. All they saw was a menace, they didn't see my potential. Aggressive like a dog in a kennel with no kibble. Natural born rebel trying to solve life's riddle.
See, the thing is, you only got to fuck up once.
Be a little slow, be a little late, just once.
And how you ain't gon' never be slow, never be late?
You can't plan for no shit like this, man It's life.
Written by: Carl Urban

