The Bottom Shelf Review

Papa, tell me,

Is this what you been trying to understand?

Do you finally see your son as a man yet?

Or “that nigga,”

Walking round town like he “that” nigga,

A good kid playing a bad nigga,

Leanin’, drinkin’, and schemin’ with a pack of niggas,

A bunch of school kids serving dime bags to niggas,

While you’re hoping he don’t end up being like the past niggas,

Cuz you know, if it’s worth a dollar or pride, these kids will blast a nigga,

Leaving him with the choice to get tagged or shoot back and bag a nigga,

Coming home the nigga,

That you didn’t raise him to be…

Papa, tell me,

Is this what you been trying to understand?

Do you finally see your son as a man yet?

Or “that nigga,”

Your shadow just a tad bigger,

I mean, maybe not as slick,

But a tad swifter,

That young ass gripping, pack flipper,

Following the footsteps of the last nigga,

Like we can disguise red eyes, and swollen lips,

Like you ain’t work hard nights,

To put food on paper plates,

To pay for your kids to go play,

And to keep us safe,

Cuz one day you was that nigga,

That you didn’t raise us to be…

We are far from “niggas.”