Prayer Hands - Benny the Butcher

Somebody must be praying cause I ain’t ‘pose to make it

I think about it every time I see my kids' faces

My pops wasn’t around and my momma was free-basin'

I was always on the grind, in and out of police stations

The legal system love to see a young nigga fumble

And all my city is, is just a young nigga jungle

They get it how they live, I watched them young niggas hustle

Bob and weave like Ali;

«Rumble, young nigga rumble!»

And I was hard headed ain’t nobody wanna talk to me

I was sick on filling-up on hotdogs and pork and beans

Caught a dope case, paid a lawyer and he fought for me

My momma said a prayer and my wife came to court with me

Guilty as charged for whipping that hard

Just to feel normal I had to sit in that car

But none of that matters when you sit behind bars

Did some shit and now starved, blowing sticks in that yard

Nowadays they don’t know the meaning of a boss

When I was up top I heard my team took a loss

The set got intercepted, my people took a charge

We ain’t even sweat it, moved on, shook it off

If I was in the town that probably would’ve been me

Whole brick ridin' in a rented SUV

Life taught me this;

even freedom ain’t free

I say a prayer every night, right before I go to sleep

I could’ve been a lawyer instead I was a gangster

All worked out for a nigga so I’m thankful

Strays hitting kids, niggas dying over paper

In my hood they still ride like I just filled the tank up

I ain’t that spiritual but I’m a walking miracle

We used to be poor, for dinner we ate cereal

My grandma had died;

I miss you and still cherish you

Cried in front of my whole family at the burial

My daughters probably know every verse from Rihanna

But we don’t go to church so they don’t know a verse out the Bible

That means I gotta teach ‘em

Tell ‘em how Jesus was a king and a prophet, you’ll find him if you seek him

So, say a little prayer and put one in the air

My beef is your beef, I told my brother we could share it

I don’t see how a snake can call himself a man

Stab his own in the back then look ‘ his self in the mirror

I guess we all sinners, heart colder than four winters

That headband kush kept me higher than four ceilings

In my city it can never be personal, all business

And that four-pound ‘ twist you and bend you like car fenders

I got pain in my heart, cocaine in my thoughts

Blatantly glorifying how I play with that fourth

I was ashamed to earn a minimum wage, I was taught

That crime pays and a young age I was bought