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.
Or

I quit.
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.