Ain't from the streets of Compton
Ain't from no prison yard
Ain't got no guns or weapons
Hell, nigga, I ain't hard
I'd rather help than fight you
I'd rather hug than swing
I know where diamonds come from
It ain't about the bling
Ain't got no fancy car
I can't afford my rent
Ain't even got my own style
Sometimes I'm 50 Cent
But I ain't got not bullets
And I ain't bullet proof
And you can take your aim
But you can't kill the truth
Ay, yo, untie that noose
Son, we ain't free, we're loose
I'm sleeping on the floor above your party's burning roof
And when that party's through
here's what you need to do
Just hold that mic right to your heart and hear the beat of you

I got a heart beat produced by God, and, boy, it sounds hard
Got a heart beat produced by God, and, boy, it sounds hard
Got a heart beat produced by God, and, boy, it sounds hard
Got a heart beat produced by God, and, boy, it sounds hard