Dusty In Here Lyrics

Dusty In Here lyrics

Back in the days when I was a young buck

Stuck like a truck gettin' shit outta luck

Times was rough and I didn't have a plan

I was barely on the edge of my life as a man



It's really fucked up when there's dope in the crib

No food in the kitchen for the motherfuckin' kids

That's why a young nigga learned how to steal, see

Shopliftin' laid me a whole lotta meals



But I remember days when the cupboard was bare

And life was unfair but who the fuck cares?

I still hear momma, what she used to tell me

That you don't get shit in this life for free



And even if I never ever make it to the mountain top

Fuck it! I fight for my hip-hop

Not everybody can relate to what I been through

Even though some front and they try to pretend to



Know about the life of a kid and the strife

Where he has to live in the shadow of a base pipe

Good goes to bad, bad goes to worse

And pretty soon he's stealin' from his own momma's purse



So clean out ya ears and open up your eyes

I reach out to touch but somebody moved the sky

My stomach is growlin', word is born

'Cause all I had for dinner was a can-o-corn



A can-o-corn,a can-o-corn

All I had for dinner was a can-o-corn

A can-o-corn, a can-o-corn

Before I went to school, I had a can-o-corn



A can-o-corn, a can-o-corn

I tried to get full off a can-o-corn

A can-o-corn, a can-o-corn

That's all the fuck that we had in the kitchen



A few years later, I pledge a legions to the set

I'm growin' up but I ain't grown yet

It's funny how the strain in a life filled with pain

Can sometimes leave a bitch stained on the brain



I'm sittin' in the restaurant, guardin' my food like a eagle

Pickin' up scraps like a seagull

Waitin' on the people at the next table to leave a tip

So I can put it in my pocket



Phoney easter bunny, Santa Claus and the stork

We was poor as fuck so we ate a lot of pork

And it ain't no motherfuckin' way no how

When it come up, I let you bring me down



So I stick to the boots and I'm down with a mad group

Of gangstas and hoodlums, but you can call 'em 'Scroops'

Give me liberty or give me death

'Cause a man without pride ain't got shit left



And now that I'm older with kids of my own

I put me in the pot where it used to be a bone

Get'cha self together, word is born

'Cause a man can't live on a can-o-corn