Mama, I'm Coming Home

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Elstyn Gunnn

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I've been starving to know
I've been caught up in lows
I've been harboring cold thoughts
And feeling alone
My homie is locked up alone
With no one he knows
And I'm on the phone
And this could be his KO
Or it can all be ok
Because it's all part of growth
He said that he's so scared
And he just wants to die old
1100 have passed
1100 to go
Then he'll be home

Mama, I'm coming home
Hope my pistol don't blow
Put it to my face
And tell my people that I'm gone with the wind
Alone with no friends
I've been stoned under sin
Sentenced by a pen
I'm a dog at its end
These words hit me hard
And beat the weight off my chest
They want to stand on my body when I'm dead
This gun in my grip
That's the world in my hands
I'm trying to watch this bitch blow like it's sand in the wind
Ropes in my family tree on a broke branch
I never really knew myself
But the dopeman has got me feeling like I know myself for an old friend
Mama, I'm coming home

Rolling with them Cripts bruh
Neighborhood shit bruh
Five down and six up
We were babies with the bottle
That love to yell and holler
About missing moms and fathers
I had to bounce before my conscious
Got made into a product
And sold for a dollar to mark a rich man's bible
Or get stuffed inside his wallet
Traded for a profit
Folded and discarded and burned away like a martyr
I was cruising for a bruising
Nooses loosened on my neck
Each movement could leave me stretched
On the ground facing down
While they chalk around my carcass found
In a pool of blood, did he swim or did he drown
Hold my breathe and float around
Shit, all I hear is word of mouth
Heard a shout come out the last house
Trying to wave us down
Said he wanted to holler at my friend for a problem
With a façade in the art of acting harder
He threatened my partner
Weapons drawn in this art of war
Came to resemble the Blueprints and the Carters
And I could douse his brains out his mouth
And ask him what he thinks about
But I bet he'd just say nothing

Mama, I'm coming home
And now my pistol's done blown
Pull it off his head
And tell his people that he's gone with the wind
I'm home, let me in
Blue skies rub against dark skies in the midst
And there's people gonna die
And your reasons don't exist
Because everyone is killing off of made-up lists
My homie's locked up
And can't see his lady or his kid
All so a mother fucker could get rich

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