Lyrics of "Where I'm From" by Lemon

Part 1:
Yo, where I’m from,
Where I’m from is known as the borough of royalty
The infinite party rocker
The home of Big Poppa, ’92 door knockers
We stick our middle finger up in the air
For that little bitch named John Rocker
See, I’m from the county of kings
Where every day we know we fortunate
If we see another morning
We take our nieces, our nephews
Put ‘em under our wing
Send them out in that world hopin’ they keep that grass green

The county of kings
Hometown to the best fighters who ever stepped in the ring
We are still the land of the angriest blacks, puerto ricans
Baggiest Phat Farmers, craziest baby mamas
Fire escapes, bootleg cd’s and tapes
We will always have the worst crooked cops
We will always have the best weed spots

The county of kings
New school like Bloods and Crypts
But we old school like the Savage Skulls and Ching-a-lings
The crazy girls in black pearls
Shit we go way back like He-Man underwears
BBD’s and Lee’s
Bums call peabody
‘Cause if you ever go to the county of kings
Your ass better pass by Flatbush
And pick me up a vegetable patty with coco bread
And all the brown fried chicken wings

I want y’all to tip the eight year old kid outside
Dancing Uptown shaking it up ‘cause that’s the way he makes his living
See the county of kings is not the house
It’s the home where I rest
So when I yell out for Brooklyn, New York City
I want to hear always Funky fresh, fresh, fresh, fresh

Part 2:
This is not about the murders, the convicts,
The three time loser, the first time felon or the skit bidder
This is not about the CO’s, the wardens, the commissary
The Crips, the Bloods, the Kings
Or how much time you got on the phone homie
This is not about the DA, or the Legal Aid, fuck them
After they done railroading your ass up north
They go to lunch together anyway
This poem is as priceless as a carton of cigarettes
And a brand new pair of creased greens
This is a toast to freedom

Just ‘cause you’re locked up don’t mean you can’t be free
Matter of fact, the first day of your bid the options are available
The door’s wide open
You could be Muslim, and sing a song to raise the sun
You could be five percent and understand
That the mathematics behind the language of kemetics is that it is the original tongue of man
My brother, you could be a Christian
And go from being Catholic to being confused
To knowing the only way is to fear God
And you got nothing to lose, everything to gain
Can I get a witness?

You could be a Nazi and hate all of the above
But we don’t get much of those ‘round here
Plus the Israelites’ll set that ass straight
But you got to believe in something
You got to believe in something
Or you will be a rhythmless void
So here’s a toast to my God
And all of y’all who played a yard
May your word be born and may you find
That the Lord may not come when you call
But he’s always on time

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MIeLPsyprJE