Once lived a boy,

Lived and grew in the belly of the beast,

In Harlem, the worst city in the east,

People would wake up,

To bullets rocking the sky,

They would worry about their children,

Wondering if they would end up like that “guy”,

But see,

Jermain didn’t see it that way,

Just living life day by day,

Saying I’m not the rose,

That grew from concrete,

But the Rose that grew,

Through the snow and the street,

The one that will have his mom wearing gold,

The one that will always bend, but not fold,

Who doesn't hang with gangs,

Because his mama told him,

To not do those type of immature things,

And if he wanted to do anything of that nature,

Then he would have to sing,

To have him be somebody,
Go somewhere in life,

And well knowing all this the boy said,

I know I know,

I will grow,

And sow.

The reputation that this place has gotten,

The reputation of being nasty and rotten,

But the reputation still hangs,

Because that is just the reputation you get,

When you hang out with a gangs