Trying to Make It Lyrics by Ghetto Commission

  • Album Release Date: 1998
  • Features : {“Mr. Serv-On”}

I’m a soldier tryin to make it on these streets

I’m tryin to make it
I’m a soldier tryin to make it on these streets x4

[Mr. Serv-On]
It seems like I’ve been tryin to make it out for years
Niggas always asking me to spell something well today I’ma spill tears
Because it seems lately thats all I know; and as for my cousin
I don’t know whether to call her a dopehead or a hoe
Cause she fuckin for needles, but Lord I love my peoples
I look at my tank in the mirror and hope I see something better
But since i was nine i’ve been writing dear God letters
Asking him to heal me and my block a bunch of sins committed
But if a nigga call me in the middle of the night
This street life shit I’m still wit it
I try to accept it they tell me you are where you from
So i guess i from dope, murder, and depression
I still haven’t learned my lesson
Cause it seem like I’m a walk this mothafucka bad as fuck
Until the bags on my feet
Mr. S-E-R uh V duckin from these streets
Chorus 4X

I never had a role model
Because my pappy hit the bottle
And when on that nigga
He fucked wit a nigga so my love for him was shadowed
My momma constantly told me “Darling keep yo head up”
But momma you bets ta call him cause I’m gettin fed up
I was only sixteen wit the responsiblity of a grown man
Any situation I encountered in school
Won’t that coo so I broke the rules
I got tired of being teased for wearing Wranglers instead of Lee’s
And I put that ha ha shit for free and I gained some enemies
????, half of my neighborhood was on drugs
But my momma showed me love, she had to accept that I was a thug
Imagin dealers not bein busted, police force not bein curropted
No more pistol play in public and only God doin the judgin

Chorus 4X

I grew up in poverty, eatin commodity, tried to carry myself modestly
When the first and the fifteenth came around
Felt like we hit the lottery
I was too young to understand but old enough to remember
We ate leftovers all the time, Santa Clause didn’t come on Christmas
The streets made us vicious
Surrounded by killers throughout my childhood
Hustlers hustle, and they showed me that it was good in my neighborhood
You stand mighty, they flash thier cars when they get excited
Momma got fired, no pention plan when she retired
More wood to the fire, a bad situation got worse
Stopped goin to church, started puttin in work
The man of the house ?????
But imagine if I wasn’t filled with hatred
If I wasn’t trapped in the game, I probably would make it
Imagin life without illegal drug transactions
That’s some shit I can’t see when I’m tryin to make it on these streets
I’m a soldier on the path that I ride is the path that I die
I’m gonna make a case cause I’m not satisfied with just gettin by
I’m a score me two chickens and hit my boulevard within my ward
Like a man if I get caught up I can’t do nothin but accept my charge
Fuck rap, that’s not where it’s at, dawg I’m keepin it real
It’s all about the scrill, that’s the shit the niggas could feel

Chorus 4X

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