The Heart of a Thug
What am I tryin to be, who am I tryin to convince?
All that will rise in me, is that REAL that APPLIES to me, make sense?
When you’ve been raised to be a criminal, thug life is subliminal
Things I don’t wanna mention are deeply within my intention.
I made this crazy decision to change how I think and be good.
I have this amazing vision of myself not actin like a thug from the hood.
So I read about great men and try to emulate their behavior,
I bow down and yes I pray when I communicate with the Savior.
I’m asking Him, no begging that man to make me like normal people.
My past things with dreading my hands have shamed me by formal evil.
Why do you sucka’s scold me when I was taught to be ruthless!
My older brothers told me I’d get got if I were clueless!
Do you seriously think that this is a game I play when the truth is I was trained to be crazy?
Would your judgemental eyes still be aimed this way if you knew this was the way they raised me?
Forget that, don’t even trip I really don’t give a damn about how you might see me
I meant that I’m not on that tip just tryna be a good man, but doubt when I fight to be free
The way that I talk, the way that I walk, even my accent says what I really am.
Look at my face. Can you even see a trace of any part of something like a good man?
I even look like a thug, not one of them pretty boys everyone looks up to and trusts.
Feelin so low like a bug, up from within be that noise I see who I be with disgust!
But I try! Homie believe me I really try to bring a change in me.
Make it die, knowing that never will I really seem to tame this beast.
I think I know what I’ve become and what I am but if I tell you, you’ll think I’m still on some drug.
You won’t even begin to understand when I say that I really am a good man, but with the heart of a thug.