Fighting in the Streets

I started throwing down when I was only three.
My dad knew how to fight and he passed it on to me.
I practiced with my brothers then we took it to the block.
I went to school and found the bully,
Cleaned his fucking clock.
My mother got so angry.
She tried to raise us right.
No matter what she did to me I always loved to fight.
Seneca kicked my ass down on 4th and Wallace St.
You'd think I learned my lesson but I fought him in a week.

Win or lose, it's no different.
I guess I love the energy.
I can hear my mother calling.
"Come and get you boys cause they're fighting in the street!"

I've made some friends across the years and a couple enemies.
I'm d own with LBU my family across the sea.
I'm not the greatest fighter and I haven't won them all but I still can see my fathers face and hear my mother call.
I drove through my old neighborhood trying to reminisce about the places that I've been and faces that I miss.
I've learned about forgiveness and a little self-control,
But if it's time to rumble fuck that shit it's time to fucking go