They judge me because I came from poverty.

They say I'm a thug.

They say I do and sell drugs.

Because of the way I act and dress.

Everyday's a same freaking lesso of whether am I that cat tryna be hard tryna be thuggin it so stressing makes me so depressing. You don't understand what I been through.

My pain.

Ya'll don't understand I lose my father figure 2 years ago.

Yall don't understand I grew up in Northeast Houston.

A blood terrorory.

12 years growing up there with full of tears and full of hardcore.

Girls down there be trifling and raw especially scandanlous.

Where I grew up was hard and ghetto.

Almost became a screw up.

I steal.

I hanged with the bloods who were my homies at the school.

I didn't bang.

I educated myself.

I fade and survive Houston.

I'm livingin the surburbs now.

I'm tryna blow up.

I'm tryna flow my fame of dreams.

I'm tryna be real.

So before ya'll judge me listen and know how I'm feeling.

I got a brother that is struggling in the correctional faclity for 15 years now.

I got friend's that are dead and injured prolly in jail too.

I'm being real about my life.

My life taught me kessons.

It made me survive.

Pverty isn't a game.

It lowers down your chances and opportunities.

I heard the gun shots.

I heard Beatrice pulling the trigger 3 blocks away from my crib.

All you need is soul.

Your heart.

Confidence.

Chances.

And staying real.

WE need to be real.

We need to break these haters.

Whenever I die.

Whenever I rise.

I make it.

I become famous.

I'mma say that I'm still real.

I'm still real when I grew in poverty.

I'm still real when I didn't became a screw up.

I'm still real when I fade away from Htown.

And lastly I'm still real when I'm still here living and making it.

The struggle still continues.