*incomplete

[Intro: Born Sun]

It's Born Sun

Inhale, exhale

Sharpshooters

It started off like this

[Verse 1: Born Sun]

Yo, the rats, the roaches that crawl into homes of the slums

The pimps, the hoes, the winos, you calling them bums

The games, the thugs, the drugs is flooding the streets

You know it's big when little kids is bustin' they heat

The fatherless kids with daddies that's doing they bids

The single mothers that still handle they biz

The cops, the robbers, the crooks, the users, the dealers

The stick-up juks, the gats, the rats, the squealers

The liquid stores and bodegas on the corner blocks

Bullet riddles walls caused by the stray shots

The Henny, the forties, the blunt cuts, the ashes

The dead body layin' next to where the trash is

The Blacks, the Ricans, Jamaicans from young to old

I'm looking out the window

It gets deep like the words in my breath