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[Chorus - X3 w/ variations]
I'm just a prisoner, ohh noo
(I'm just)
[Verse 1]
Young man stepping off an uptown train
Ground still wet from the cold hard rain
Living in the city, know the streets by name
Take a walk with me, come and feel my pain
See what I see, come and get my glimpse
Dig a little deeper that the media clips
Underneath strugglers and the hardships
Two bit hustlers, big time pimps
Now look at little Mike, I heard he lost his dad
Drank a lot of liquor, made his liver turn bad
Now I see him out there serving that Yac
Will he even live to be a high school grad?
But see that lady named old Ms. Givens
Who used to serve lunch to the homeless children
Worked a lot of overtime, still got evicted
Spent her last dollar on a lottery ticket
I witness this from behind my gates
Totally determined to decide my fate
Food for thought when I'm saying my grace
I wonder if I ever will escape this place
[Chorus] X2
[Verse 2]
Now I done seen a lot of things in this town
Cry me a river like the tears of a clown
Made me familiar with the sites and sounds
To hit ya with the rhythm so you gotta get down
Shake off the blues to forget my past
Forget that I'm a prisoner but still I'm trapped
Stack a little cash, have a little stash
You either rich or poor, ain't no middle class
Man I'm trying to get it any way I choose
Come around the way and walk a day in my shoes
Same neighborhood where I paid my dues
And you can see the homies on the late night news
Why they out thugging trying to fire them guns
Don't the realize that they mama's need sons
Abusing their lives like it's gotta be done
Young black male that society shuns
If everything we do is so clean and so fresh
Then why have we become such a people oppressed
You say you don't care, hate it you I guess
It's a living nightmare, but its where I rest
[Chorus] X2
[Verse 3]
Now prison is a place full of cold hard facts
Where even the innocent might get trapped
Run down housing overcome by crack
The teachers can't even get a good contract
If it ain't the cats doing they hard bids
Or the mama's out working on the graveyard shifts
If it ain't the artists who display our gifts
Then tell me who the hell is gonna save our kids
Preacher man tell me, can it get any worse?
Don't the Lord love us, are we really just cursed?
With the hunger and thrist while I'm saying my grace
I pray for the day we can escape this place
Yeah
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