Room with a View

One side of the street is Malone's funeral home And the other side's a library Try very hard to picture this shit Walk through where I live at Where parents are embarrassed to tell you they raise their kids at If you need some half and half or an eight ball you could get that Fuck with little Rodney and you get all of your ribs cracked In a location where slangin' crack rock is not seen a fuckin' recreation but a vocation And the sellers and the smokers are both pacin' Got one eye on Minneapolic PD they both racin' Three for fifty is the supply and demand In the twin cities, American heartland And they been busy, masterminds tearing apart plans And hoop dreamers ballin' with blisters on their hands With chains dangling from the rims Pain strangles them from within Until a belt around the arm makes the veins stand at attention I try to block it out with a bed sheet that moonlights as a curtain Cause I'm not comforted by red and blue lights when I'm hurting "Mommy loves you", yeah I knew but I wasn't certain Cause the lenses through which she views life wasn't working As a boy she told me, "wait for your father to come home" I'm 24, still waiting for my father to come home And some parents only touch their children when the whips brought That's why bad kids to bad shit, just so they can get caught And get touched; this growing up shit's rough That's a big part of why we're so mixed up Shit, we don't have bah mitzvahs We become men the first time our father hits us And we don't open gifts up Sister Regina from across the street is beautiful But for fifty bucks aint nothing she won't do to you Used to be premium pussy, now she's used up For that same fifty bucks she gotta do some new stuff Whatever it takes to make you pull the dollars out If you don't intervene then there's a day she'll turn her daughter out Speaking of kids, I'm fixing lunch for my first born I had the windows wide open 'cause the weather's warm That's when the greatest hits of Donnie Hathaway Got interrupted by a drive-by shooting half a block away Faheem was I the window, he didn't get hit though "All praise due Allah" (X3) I see all this from the desk that I write my rhymes from Pen starts to scribble on it's own, my mind's numb But you could call me modern urban Norman Rockwell I paint a picture of the spot well