Walt:
Southfield born, Northville raised till I was 2.
Seven Mile, only remember the living room
1st Christmas, I got a toy schoolhouse
Government cheese, but love I never went without
'92, Dad's like "we need a different route"
Settled in the Ingham County land with the kid and spouse
Deep down, I knew I was of the city
Not meant for what the town wanted to give me
Never on the same page as the neighbors
5 acres of imagination to play in
School problems, won't get into it now
But I needed to find my own road to the clouds
Age 12 at LCC I found
Rap in the computer lab, headphones vibing out
Expressed what I saw in the lyrics
Knew my environment cuz I was never really in it
I noticed that the stories in the songs
Were being played out where I lived, I came upon the truth
That the same battle lives in the hood
As the souls of white trash kids deep in the woods
I watched Meth hit the county like Crack
Friends moms turn to fiends, they ain't never coming back
Meth hit the county like Crack
Friends moms turn to fiends, they ain't never coming back

CHORUS
Northernplayalisticcadillac shit
Hands in the sky like you reaching for the last cent
I reminisce on decisions I made
And those made for me
The same stories.

GP:
Rolling shotgun through my city you can see the stories unfold
Former pot of gold got exposed, jobs bought & sold
My forefathers chose the Motor City-scape to find a home
Riots branded down the divides that white flight condoned
I came into this world an Ypsilanti resident
Child of the very sin I've wrestled with ever since
Nevertheless my parents stuck it out a couple years
And even after the divorce, they made it clear the love was near
Coming up I had an appetite for books
Velvet portraits of the lions at my aunt's had me shook, when
I'd visit cousins on the East side of the D
Till my mom remarried and we moved there in '93
Stepfather was a cop and got shot before we had a chance to unpack
6 months gone to return back
Went to school in the Deuce and formed bonds across color lines
Subdivision chilling in the summertime
The Clinton era had the middle class stacking bills
Soon enough we got that invitation sent from Jack & Jill
A breeding ground for the upwardly mobile black elites
Where the Talented 10th kids could meet
My stint was brief, and all I really learned was code switching
Had slang on deck ready for tone switching
Junior high I'm eating lunch at the "black table"
To this day we still wear the scars of imagined labels
Junior high I'm eating lunch at the "black table"
To this day we still wear the scars of imagined labels

CHROUS