Lyrics

Trouble in my way
I gotta cry at times
I struggle everyday
That's why I write the rhymes
I'm on a paper chase
It ain't about the cash
My weapon is the pen
I use a skillcraft
But where I come from
The Chi-city blocks
A different kind of paper chase
Where brothas use a glock
Everyday a death
If you ain't thinking fast
Then take a deep breath
Cuz it could be the last
Time
Ain't got a whole lot of it here
And count your blessings
If you get to see another year
In the hood
Life throws jabs and body blows
Pound for pound
Taking down whoever I oppose

I'm a champion
Of the ghetto, son
I'm a champion
Of the ghetto, son
I'm a champion
Of the ghetto, son
Round one, life and I
Going one on one
I'm a champion
Of the ghetto, son
I'm a champion
Of the ghetto, son
I'm a champion
Of the ghetto, son
Round two, life and I
Going one on one

Now have you ever
Had to eat syrup sandwiches?
Or share the same bed
With five other kids?
Open the door
And ain't a damn thing in the fridge?
To make a way
We went and did what we had to did
Some people get jobs
Some people sell crack
Some people get rich
Some people get jacked
Some people make it out
But never make it back
No matter where they go
I'll bet they're still black
You cowards leave the fight
And you should be ashamed
Cuz in the hood we got
Young fighters left to train
And it'll be ironic
When you get knocked out
By the same shorties you forgot about

CHORUS

Round and round
And around we go
Where we stop
Don't nobody know
Life hits hard
Prepare for the blow
Pace yourself
Better take it slow
And put your dukes up
Put your fists up
Protect your dome-piece
And keep your guards up
By definition
You're a champion
Fightin' everyday
And you still remain standing

CHORUS

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