[Chief Kamachi]
Yo, the first grandson of Phillip Lee
Grew up on the Ave, where they was dealing D
Searching for my moms, oh where could Camilla be?
My Uncle Upstate, hope they set my killa free
Days is dreary, little swollen eyes stay teary
Grandmoms died on my birthday, speak of a dearly
Until this day, feel like a warm embrace they near me
And got me, when this young nigga can't think clearly
Inside me, had to be strong from the start
Day-by-day but everybody around me falling apart
Alone in the dark, wanna put the chrome to my heart
With the heavenly weed that I know the angels spark
These the things that influenced my behavior
Go to Church; probably put a shell in the Savior
Worship for what!?!
Niggas ain't working enough
Was praying to pay my way but I judge for a book
Tryna stroll but it seems the world was hurting my strut
Don't wanna have to resort to drastic measures
I'll kill for a bird with fantastic feathers
If I don't get paid off this voice, these classic treasures
(Hook) 2x
I'm on the edge nigga, like I was born on the ledge
Cuz I said "Please" that don't mean to push me to the edge
Hard to be righteous but easy to put one in ya head
I'm from the slums in Congo, live from this dunya
[Chief Kamachi]
Yo, I live them Section-8 Housing tales
Depressed, chain-smoked over 2,000 L's
Hungry miles, with little vials to sell
Keep my bear warm in Philly's crowded jail
Some ain't coming home or even browsing bells
Suicidal, whether we be doused in hell
It's strapped in special war, in the middle of blue walls
Where they keep human vegetables stored
Some genius with incredible scores
But than the kitchen crack come send 'em to their ghetto medical store
They go crazy, or smoke that Bolivian pure
Skies is hazy, is these days we living in war
And I wrote this A&R, the infirmary floor
From my brothers became broke like they learned to be poor
On the edge nigga
Man, what kind of world is this?
Man, the faggots have stolen the fucking rainbow, man
(Hook) 2x
[Chief Kamachi]
Maybe I'm crazy, never occurred my state blurred from the tropical herb
Messing with my optical nerves with the doctors observed
Is the young hustler disturbed, got the psycho in me
I can see it in my face, immediately
I can walk the line of evil, obediently
It's getting dim, and I can see my light leaving me
Must be the dark spirits and they thievery
High on the stoop, wild as Congo
Visualize paint, elephant and army suits
Don't be drinking orange juice
In the white jacket, can't get my arms loose
Even the though the nurses was Indians teaching me Kama Sutra
Still tryna find the cooch on mama goose, sinning
Looking for the zone off in the Ritilin
Cuz I'm tripping, screaming "Fuck the police"
In the hospital catching on the edge, nigga
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