Black Boy Fly - Bonus Track

Original

So I'm sayin' what up, what up, nigga you made it.

So I'm sayin' what up, what up, nigga you made it. So I'm sayin' what up, what up, nigga you made it.

So I'm sayin' what up, what up, nigga I hate it. So I'm sayin' what up, what up, nigga I hate it.

Frustrated and I'm ridin' down the backstreets thinkin' my conscience asks me, "Will I survive to make it up out this hoe in time? " Black boy fly.

Black boy fly, black, black boy fly. Black boy fly.

I used to be jealous of Aaron Affalo.

I used to be jealous of Aaron Affalo. He was the one to follow.

He was the only leader foreseeing brighter tomorrows. He would live in the gym.

We was livin' in sorrow, total envy of him.

He made his dream become a reality, actually makin' it possible to swim.

His way up out of Compton with furthermore to accomplish, graduate with honors, a sponsor of basketball scholars. It's 2004 and I'm watchin' him score 30.

Remember vividly how them victory points had hurt me.

'Cause every basket was a reaction or a reminder that we was just movin' backwards.

The bungalow where you'll find us, the art of us ditchin' classes headed nowhere fast.

Stick my head inside the study hall, he focused on math.

Determination, ambition, plus dedication and wisdom, qualities he was given was the shit we didn't have.

Duck inside of his book bag when Coach Palmer asked for his finals, he had his back like a spinal.

Meanwhile we singin' the same old song, spinnin' the vinyl.

11th graders gone wrong, he focused on the NBA, we focused on some Patrón.

Now watch that black boy fly. Black boy fly. Watch that black boy fly. Black boy fly.

Watch that black boy fly. Black boy fly. Watch that black boy fly.

Black boy. I used to be jealous of Jayceon.

I used to be jealous of Jayceon Taylor when I was young.

Taylor made a career out of music from writin' songs.

A Buick had drippin' past, bumpin' him when I mowed the lawn.

Money launderin', hustlin', homies ponderin' up again schemes to make a million even if doin' you harm.

Was the case and just in case you wasn't alarmed, the city had fought with firearms and many had died before dawn.

It's 2004 and I'm hearin' the people roar for the name of the game, they line in front of the store.

Swap meets sellin' out mixtapes, I'm like, "Oh shit, wait.

" Don't wanna be another nigga stuck regrettin' mistakes.

Mixed feelings was my opinion, I was defendin' my insecurities, chillin' my conscience next to a villain. Compton made you believe success wasn't real.

Be honest, none of us mourn for record deals.

So as I peeled through those lottery tickets I see a Harley Davidson truck visit the same plaza we shop.

A tall nigga hopped out with Jordans and a white tank top.

He was top of the rap game, we was the top of the block. So watch that black boy fly. Black boy fly.

Watch that black boy fly. Black boy fly.

Watch that black boy fly. Black boy fly. Watch that black boy fly. Black boy.

My mama didn't raise me up to be jealous-hearted like most of the winners call it.

Regardless of where you stay, hold your head and continue marchin'.

That's what she said, but in my head I wanted to be like Jordan or tourin' the country with money from mic recordin'. The only way out the ghetto, you know the stereotype.

Shootin' hoops or live on the stereo like Top 40 and shortly I got discouraged. Like every time

I walk to the corner and them guns burstin'.

Nigga, I was rehearsin' in repetition the phrase that only one in a million will ever see better days.

Especially when the crime waves was bigger than tsunami, break your boogie boards to pieces, you just a typical homie.

All these niggas facetious and they all standin' beside me. They all'll buy me a chopper if any one of you try me. What am

I to do?

When every neighborhood is an obstacle and two niggas makin' it out had never sounded logical. Three niggas makin' it out, that's mission impossible.

So I never believed the type of performance that I can do.

I wasn't jealous 'cause of the talents they got, I was terrified they'll be the last black boys to fly out of

Compton.

Thank God.

Black boy fly.