Habbaouirainey

A young kid from the East.
First time I seen a band, I was five years old.
My first rock sale? Could’ve been four can’t even remember for sure.
But the crosses on my neck weren’t just for show.
I wasn’t some kid selling gold chains for fun.
I’d walk up bold, say,
“Got gold crosses for sale.”
Next thing, I’d come back with a hundred, maybe two.
Hand the money to my pops he’d slide me a twenty.
That’s all it took.
Right there, a monster was born.
Not the kind they warn you about the kind the streets create.
A hustler molded by survival.