Fan Mail (feat. Dina Rae)

Nobody wants it more than me

I'm writing stories bout my life

Pumping gangster music and smoking weed

This ghetto poetry, this is what it's suppose to be

I'm certified like I got a stamp from a notary

I'm getting crazy ass fan mail

A kid with no dad, up in his pad doin' crack sales

Telling' me that his mom is never home

I don't think she really cares that I'm drinking liquor, & gettin' blown

I'm getting high just listening to you rhyme sick

& I replied with, homie take your time with

Life, cause I was in your shoes once

Chillin' with the crew, that was makin' them other foos run

There was alotta gangs, we had to choose one

The cops raided us, like every other two months

Take my advice, that ain't the life you wanna live

Make your mother proud, graduate and make it big

I can hear the streets, they talking..

But you don't know the shoes, I've walked in

Only thing I hear is money calling

Don't crucify me, crucify me

I was performing in Chicago, I met this girl we was chillin'

Sipping from the bottle, tellin' me stories

About her young cousin Pablo

Before he passed away, he bumped my music in his Monte Carlo

Was my biggest fan, used to play me everyday

Was even planning to take a trip to LA

Wanted to see me rap in front of a crowd

Told his friends I was raw as fuck, reppin' the brown

Can't believe the next letter this young girl wrote

Your songs kept me alive, last night I almost overdosed

Going through depression, she might be pregnant

And not to mention, her boyfriend didn't reply to the message

I wrote back and said baby your wrong

You got a future and you shouldn't be apart of this song

I know it's hard to be positive, when you feeling hopeless

You can't give up, and hope that heavens doors open

I can hear the streets, they talking

But you don't know the shoes, i've walked in

Only thing I hear is money calling

Don't crucify me, crucify me