It was 1994..
I was 4.
I never thought I could be addicted to drugs and whores.
But I was poor..
Mom laid there crying on the floor.
Money and food just seemed so far.
So, I guess I grew up to be poor.
Money and dreams still seem so far.
But now I’m 24.
I guess I’ll be poor till the money comes through the door.
I’m sick and sick and tired
Of walking on the wire.
Cause it’ll drop you.
Put you through the dirt..
Grab on your pockets and pull on your skirt.