1st VERSE
I did not come from a broken home…instead just the opposite…A loving family with problems a victim of my surroundings… Our biggest obstacle was lack of education and poverty forced to do what was needed for a bit of food and security. It’s hard to see the warmth of my family’s love turn into a cold hug because of money problems unresolved. Two jobs aint enough and still they grind harder than most. I’m pissed off at the world because we’re now given no choice…and how did we get here? Our folks forced out of their country. You must be stupid, no one crosses the desert ‘cause they want to. It’s a necessity… a sacrifice for the family. You don’t call them illegals you call them Economic Refugees
In this part of the song, I would tell you, “imagine how you felt…” but I know you don’t need to imagine, cause if you’ve been poor then you know the feeling real to you vivid cause you’ve smelt it, tasted it, felt it…in other words you’ve lived it!

2nd VERSE
I turned my head away from anger…Cause it would be have been easy to pick up the pistol and bang on the ones I thought were responsible. Instead I dreamt in Spanish I stared at hands I saw the color of my skin and reminded me of the days my grandpa said, “nuestra sangre es pura y la cultura cura…” I stopped talking and suddenly I heard the whispers in the city. “I share your pain,” they said, “we also wanna be free.” So instead of throwing up signs or throwing rocks at buildings, I threw my fist in the air and joined the rest of the children…ha!…I could not turn the other cheek because its easy to forget, but it is hardest to regret…You see…
I’m not a gangster I don’t bang / I’m not a hustler I don’t slang
But a ghetto kid that’s the reason for my swagger and the slang
I’m not a dying for the block see I don’t own nothing there
but for my people I’ll give my life and work until we win the fight!


3rd VERSE
and so I go to school instead of streets reject my football scholarship and focus on the books to get my grades up and show the hood that anything is possible.
Another grind I know I could and finish to make my people proud like I said I would.
But even then I saw the struggle, a prison of sorts, a culture shock … my introduction to these coconuts. Did not understand why teachers turned protesters, ‘til I realized that they’re also blue collar workers. Janitors protest, students stand and fight and the hell wth the sweatshops, they deny the workers rights.
Cultural battle for tradition and dignity … that feels like home I want to be with them every second and so I go!
Claim my space within the struggle, learn my grandpas words and try to live a different life, do my part and always grow.
Celebrate the life that we’ve been given, just another kid like you who’s driven.
If you didn’t know than now you know the feeling … feel it!