| Uh, every project Article One | 
| Every hood, every ghetto | 
| Freedom of Speech, this one we gon’talk to them | 
| This goes out to the hoods, 4th Disciple | 
| Every ghetto need a government, you know? | 
| Think of the times, man, when responsibilities become for real | 
| From Red Hook to Ohio, baby, A-One | 
| Take your time, young man, I remember they used to say | 
| All that glitter ain’t gold, I remember they used to say | 
| You got to live your life… you got to live your life | 
| Take your time, young man | 
| We was young men, never thought it would come to an end | 
| In the projects, I lived there, Red Hook, Brooklyn | 
| Before kings got shot at, for beige sheep skins | 
| Reminiscin’on the nights we didn’t listen to Glenn | 
| On the stoupe, smokin’weed drinkin’a fifth of gin | 
| We had the same Timberlands before that winter came in Now I begin to make a change before my seed get ten | 
| In the womb of the beast, we like the seed that sin | 
| Through the children is the only way we breathe again | 
| We never notice it, but still the drug game, is over with | 
| You either die or go to jail, for the one controllin’it | 
| We never ship it, but always get caught for holdin’it | 
| While the government finance those who float it in So who’se the culprits? | 
| The one ownin’it or who be smokin’it? | 
| To those who lost souls in the game, to my condolences | 
| Flashback to all the past blacks, died for cracks | 
| Made grandmothers faint out, and have heart attacks | 
| Fuck a democrat, welcomin’mat, we send them back | 
| Til we take back the almanac, to plan a format | 
| Never saw in rap, on a A-DAT, for real | 
| In my ghetto, son, the walls have ears | 
| Same rumors carried on for years, more and more forties and beers | 
| Reminiscin’on the pictures we shared, coffee park | 
| You blunted on the benches and stairs, and never scared | 
| Nigga violate at all, toe to toe in the square | 
| Elevator ride, you play a corner or catch a black eye | 
| Hot piece and butter, find a bell, taste the fat guy | 
| Back then, Black and Sly Time, had the loudest ride | 
| We went from petty crime, to up north, to federal time | 
| Money circulate, some paper chase for nickels and dimes | 
| Some will die while they was holdin’they steel, in automobiles | 
| You noticin’the snake eyes was all in his grill | 
| From success, come the envious, revenge and sex | 
| In the projects, no tellin’if you death be next | 
| Gamblin’bets, debts turn to techs and threats | 
| We all strugglin’from Puerto Ricans down to Aztecs | 
| All my young’ns, comin’up. |