Now there's hoes sell­in hoes like right around the toes. And the crack­heads beg at about the low­er leg. There's crooked po­lice that's sta­tioned at the knees. And they do drive-​bys like up and down the thighs. And there's a car chase goin on at the waist. Keep a vest on my chest. I'm sit­tin in my room as I'm lookin out the face. Some­thin to write about. I still got some dam­age from fight­in the white­house, just a . . .