Sick Luke, Sick Luke
First only non-stop crimes
Now new lifestyle, big Glock
Big racks, no sleep, fashion shows, I love you
Fashion, drugs, no more troubles
I had things at home, now I have a new home
I come from crack in the house, the street is my home
Rome, alleys, money, crimes
I don't change, I stay here, we were born guilty

Don't tell me: "I love you"
Now for the cash you think
Mom tells me together with us
You don't go down but why
Why I never get enough (yeah)
Why I never say thank you (yeah)
Innocent or guilty, I do justice myself
You know who makes a mistake pays, a bullet in the heart
We are children of the street
I have a friend in jail who still calls me
the other one outside who shoots (yeah)

A brother with seven charges
Dad and mom locked up
I'm guilty of the chatter
I ran away, into the police station
Where is the rich dad's son now? Why doesn't he come to pick me up from school?
I pass the shoes in the market in the sun while talking in the talks
And even if a year has passed
Rich dad never trusts the companions
And write with a pen and paper
While doing the walk in the cage
A pillow to put the head on top
Brother so much to put the rack underneath
I have a brother so much that he is imprisoned that he remained
The phones with the button
The first rule of the street is that if you want something don't ask
And if then a brother is in trouble you defend him
But certain things don't explain to you
And here certain things don't explain

Don't tell me: "I love you"
Now for the cash you think
Mom tells me together with us
You don't go down but why
Why I never get enough (yeah)
Why I never say thank you (yeah)

Innocent or guilty, I do justice myself
You know who makes a mistake pays, a bullet in the heart
We are children of the street
I have a friend in jail who still calls me
the other one outside who shoots

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