MARZ

Lost my job at Mickie D’s
For giving away too much food for free
But I couldn’t watch another black child go to school
With nothing to eat
Seven of us then took to the streets
Raised by the music, fed by the beat
Seeing how long we could stay out of jail
It’s how we
That’s how we’d compete
We never own the streets that we kept defending
The money we got we just end up spending
With nothing to save and not a thing for lending
You’re never really happy
Just good at pretending
Everybody in the world wants to be a star
Few got what it takes to get that far
If a rocket ship didn’t cost more than a car
A brother might move, might move, might move to Marz