Every day the young ones want to be them
The big boys on the block are called gangsters
While we hope their mama taught them to be polite
They manage to find an early death
Rather than living their full lives
They lie on a permanent silk bed.
Everyday I wake up in my warm bed
I Drive to see my friends, the ones that want to be them
The dance makes me love this life
In the streets we hear the gangsters
Creating a scene full of pain and death
The police try to be polite.
In the moment we all try to be polite
While the victim is rolled out on a bed
Lifted into a truck, trying to prevent death
Everyone running after 'em
The so called gangsters
Watching their brother lose his life.
It's a Damn frail thing. This life
Ends in a flash. You're taught to be polite
At the start, "don't grow up to be no gangster"
Your mama said, "make your bed,
Go to the store and get them
eggs for me, before I starve to death."
Before I starve to death,
I will take someone's life.
I won't even talk to 'em
There's no time to be polite
Because I want to sleep in my bed
I think I'm proud to be called a gangster.
But who really lives like a gangster
I mean do I really want to lay in death
Before I return to my love in bed.
Is that how much I care about my life?
No, I want to let all of 'em
Know I can be polite.
I don't want to be a gangster but live life
In full. Until death I will be polite
To mama, when I leave my bed and prove it to 'em.
I can
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