leg·end
1. a traditional story sometimes popularly regarded as historical but unauthenticated.
2. an extremely famous or notorious person, especially in a particular field.
When you look at Marcel Young (Vince Staples) you see an average height, sli...
*You can skip the lyrics part & just play the video. I only put the lines that I thought needed to be written out, so you could understand his situation..
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Summertime of 2014
I apologize If I might be the reason that your son never made it back home He should have gave up the phone
The comraderies, I build is with niggas that will kill Life start sheddin' tears and it's all downhill I put my homies in the dirt, and the scars ain't heal But my eyes stay dry, tecs pour out shells
Piss poor on the wic like "fuck it, I'm a crip" Cause a blue collar nigga get treated like shit Listen to the violence I encounter ridin' for the set Just another piece of shit That the preachers wasn't reachin' with the speeches from the pit
See my heavenly father no better Than the one that put his dick in my mama Long chedda was a dream We was government cheesin' in 'em mugshots Long as these niggas fiend for what the plug got We gon' make our money with greedings on the side walk
Through car windows is tryna get the gig off Knock a nigga wig off for actin' like a bitch Keep a seven in the dresser and a mac up in the whip Case they try to catch me slip-in
"Man, what the fuck you doin'?! Writin' love letters to yo bitch?" My cousin Fatts asked coming through the gate of my yard over to me. He began his annoying laugh. You know the annoying laugh where a nigga sound like a sprinkler or like they're spitting in the back of their throat? That one. We all gotta uncle who laugh like that. I sat my pen down closing my notebook smacking my lips.
"Naw, I'm writing a letter to YO bitch asking for the pussy one last time! What you want, nigga?"
"You always taking it too far," he said shaking his head as if genuinely hurt by my words. "I was just tryna figure out why your ass not at the park. Niggas about to hoop and shit. You down?"
"Aiight, I'm down. Hold on real quick." I stood up from the lawn chair on my porch going inside. I looked at my mother who was on the phone probably gossiping and laughing it up with one of her home girls. I went into my room putting a plain white t-shirt over my wife beater then throwing on some J's. I went into my drawer grabbing my piece putting it into my backpack. Always gotta play it safe around here. Niggas are always tripping. Whether it's over a lost basketball game, to steal your sneakers right off of your feet, or just gang shit. I slung it over my shoulder leaving my room. Before I could exit the house my mother stopped me.
"Where you going?" She asked lowering the phone. At 21 years old my mother is asking me where I'm going like I'm a teenager. But that's what I get for still living with her. I could move out, but I didn't want to just yet. I was comfortable here.
