Perfected on Puritan Ave.

The rap game was a fall back plan
Kwan was the homie 'cross the street when we were young
Always heard his granma trippin' while we playing twenty-one
OG of the block, used to call: «The man»
Throwin' money and bettin' on every game we playing in
5 on 5, people from the side: «YO! Y’all better win!!»
Put the rim on the street: «Aight, a’ight! Let’s play to ten.»
'Till that morning knock on the door. We hear it from his mom
Saying Man just got jumped! We don’t know if he gonn' survive
Insane! Couldn’t stop the bleeding from his brain
He’s gone. Tears shared; the block was never the same
As time passes…
Yeah, Puritan Ave. looking over your shoulder
Don’t realize you from the ghetto 'till you get a little older
On some summer time high B, summer time Spike Lee
Somehow I had that white Range Rover out nightly
Calling my nigga Dre up… like: «Yo I got that whip let’s dip!»
You see these chicks that wanna lay up when they see that truck creep in
Grey goose, hotel rooms, like every weekend
Bitches that wanna blaze up
Blowin' money at the young age of
What you expect from some young players?
That never seen and never had nothin'
But make money of making rap shit
And start living fast, put some cash stuntin'