Coolio — On My Way To Harlem

[Verse 1] I know a place where the trees don't grow Just another place where niggas live low I know a place where life is fucked up Make a wrong move and your ass get stuck up Time ain't nothin' but a frame of mind And life is like a mountain or a steep ass climb I've been lookin' for a place to leave The only free place is inside of me So let's take a trip, and you don't need a grip But you better be equipped cause it might be some shit African-American, nothin' but a nigga Had our fingers on the trigger, but I pulled mine quicker I know a place where there ain't no calm and You better stay away if you're soft like Charmin South Central, Los Angeles, Watts, and Compton A nigga from the west coast on his way to Harlem [Verse 2] Now it's time to step into the light (Light) Put up your dukes, there's gonna be a fight (Fight) And when it's time to fight, you better fight right 'Cause if it don't fight right, out goes your light Take a close look at what I'm freakin' on Niggas think I'm tweakin', but I'm speakin' on Subject matter, data Information that I gather Through my travels 'Cause the hardest of the hard, hit hardcore killer Can't stop the slug of a nine millimeter Everybody thinks they know, but they know not If they haven't caught a cap on the block *gunshot* So shine up your boots and pick up the pieces Grab a fresh pair of khakis with the sharp ass creases Ring the alarm, here comes the storm I got a firearm on my way to Harlem [Verse 3] I know a place where the sun don't shine Everybody is a victim of neighborhood crime I know a place where niggas walk the line One false step and they must do time Since I'm in the same boat I must stay afloat And sing every note From the quotes that they wrote So, I look into the past and walk the path of the greats So I won't make the same mistakes that sealed my ancestors fates If I had to be a slave I'd rather be in my grave If I get in how many lives could I save? One, two, three, a hundred, a thousand My heart is poundin', the devil keeps soundin' But he don't want my money, he wants my soul So I reach like a tree, and like a weed I grow My stomach is full, but my mind is starvin' Rollin in a g ride on my way to Harlem