B.I. Martin - Foreclosed

I still smell the Fox River
I still see my Mom on the porch cooking dinner
Back then I didn't care
I can hear her voice screaming at me up the stairs
Always out trouble making with the neighborhood kids
Don't get in our fuckin' business
I remember when they got me into smoking at the Loft
We didn't know any better, I was young
Playin' football in the snow fingers numb
Me and my brother in the backyard, hitting home runs
Still can picture Dad's warehouse
He was rollin' out that carpet for a livin'
Now I'm reflecting, I can see the bigger picture
Mom and Dad were sad they couldn't buy us many things
But what that taught us is that money isn't everything
When we started packing boxes, I was cryin'
Couldn't believe it
Spent my whole life at the Beach crib
My childhood house got foreclosed
Don't ever talk to me about the struggle
Late bloomer, late payments, aggravation
An unpopular kid that was brought up into poverty
My childhood house got foreclosed
Don't ever talk to me about the struggle
Late bloomer, late payments, aggravation
An unpopular kid that was brought up into poverty
What chu want from me?
I know that people have it worse
I'm just tryin' to paint a picture of what life was worth
When I'd wake up in the morning, have a nasty cough
Slept in the same room as the second Loft
You'd only understand that if we were tight dawg
I remember when the Beach got into air softing
We were shooting at our neighbors on golf carts and stompin' on everybody's yards
(We run it!)
We left the neighborhood scarred
All the residents hated us, wanted us to leave
Whining to our parents like a bunch of babies
Middle fingers up when we'd see 'em in the streets
Thank God, I had my friends and family through it
The Beach is so deep-rooted
How else would I do it?
This was a typical day back then
I'd get home and my parents fighting over something stupid
My childhood house got foreclosed
Don't ever talk to me about the struggle
Late bloomer, late payments, aggravation
An unpopular kid that was brought up into poverty
My childhood house got foreclosed
Don't ever talk to me about the struggle
Late bloomer, late payments, aggravation
An unpopular kid that was brought up into poverty

Written by:
Bi Martin

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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