4th Disciple - Project Love lyrics

[Intro: Hell Razah] Pain, struggle, we gotta hold our head up, as a people Youknowhatimsayin, we on a prowl Can't forget the struggle, son, we all go through G.G.O [Hell Razah] This for the baby mothers, broken hearted Five seeds in a one bedroom apartment I feel the hunger of my brothers eatin' out the garbage And all my locked up and dead baby fathers, over lady heartaches We play with automatics and revolvers I know chain robbers could of been Vince Carters Can't ignore it, cuz the pain bother Different book, but the same author Recognize, we are the same father We just try'nna feed our family tree, so our seeds be insanity free Instead of locked up for scramblin' ki's OG's comin' home, he had it sowned But the corner payphone, in '89, but he stuck in that zone Little Tasha, eight months, and got a baby by the neighborhood chump Who'd rather smoke blunts, then bring home lunch Young ones bustin' they guns with gemstars under they tongues They got the fathers locked away from the sons [Chorus: Hell Razah] Every time I count money and I think about my dead homies (It be that hood love, that keep me healthy) Every time I read a jail letter, thinkin' it's gon' get better (It be that hood love, that keep me healthy) Every time I hear a seed dyin', more mothers cryin' (It be that hood love, that keep me healthy) It's nothin' like the hood... [Hell Razah] Drug shipments, welfare recipients worship Clinton Meanwhile, we got no food in the kitchen Grandmothers turned Christian, try to warn 'em but he ain't listen Now it's phone calls from prison, daddy little girl is missing Thirteen when she started kissing, she came in late pops was flippin' Momma's boy, sold his cracks, to be employed Not noticin' we caught in the trap, to be destroyed Lookin' out of cab window, same babies in the carriage, now sell indo Carry an info', the sore losers can't win, so they spread rumors Corrupt cops, either lock or shoot us We love the hood with a ghetto respect, Nat Turner The burner be the mind first amendment, say it, cuz I meant Don't care about those who get offended We rock like Jimi Hendrix, me and my kindred Street corner experts, in jeans and a sweatshirt Team mates kick dirt, for CREAM and a network Your back'll get stabbed for that cash money bag You ain't a thug, with your chain, gun and doo-rag New car, new lab, powerful weed from just two drags You coughin' on oregano, be careful who you follow bro Someone to push your Bentley, but they ain't ready though Someone to be an M.C., and on the radio Some sell yayo, it's tricks in the ghettio Chick where my cash go? You just like the last hoe Bloomberg f**ed up the crack flow, we let gats blow Twisted colors on our capsule, turn projects to castles You ever heard of the black Jews? You seen us on the five o'clock news [Chorus]