Perfected on Puritan Ave. - Black Milk

The rap game was a fall back plan

Kwan was the homie 'cross the street when we were young

Always heard his granma trippin' while we playing twenty-one

OG of the block, used to call: «The man»

Throwin' money and bettin' on every game we playing in

5 on 5, people from the side: «YO!

Y’all better win!!»

Put the rim on the street: «Aight, a’ight!

Let’s play to ten.»

'Till that morning knock on the door.

We hear it from his mom

Saying Man just got jumped!

We don’t know if he gonn' survive

Insane!

Couldn’t stop the bleeding from his brain

He’s gone.

Tears shared;

the block was never the same

As time passes…

Yeah, Puritan Ave. looking over your shoulder

Don’t realize you from the ghetto 'till you get a little older

On some summer time high B, summer time Spike Lee

Somehow I had that white Range Rover out nightly

Calling my nigga Dre up… like: «Yo I got that whip let’s dip!»

You see these chicks that wanna lay up when they see that truck creep in

Grey goose, hotel rooms, like every weekend

Bitches that wanna blaze up

Blowin' money at the young age of

What you expect from some young players?

That never seen and never had nothin'

But make money of making rap shit

And start living fast, put some cash stuntin'