Lyrics

Papa Was a Corner Stone

Xola… aka Nat King Kizzle, Sammy Davis III, this is dedicated to every kid, every hood worldwide raised without a daddy, on the corner

Ever since I was a young boy knee high to a house fly, I remember them days at home
Alone cause my momma worked doubles troubles for me and my brotha she was all we known
Mama worked hard, Papa rolled out, jumped in his ‘lac (Caddilac) didn’t look back
So we looked out, side of the window, all of them dope boyz puffin on endo
Hanging on the block with they pants and they hat low, so they gat show moving crack yo
Gettin stacks yo, drop 64 tinted on black yo
And they twist them corners slow, I was trapped on the block no place to go
Dudes standin on Broadway lookin at a young brotha in a odd way
On MLK I was knowin the way so many brothas made a killin stackin g’s a day
Yeah… you could see the suffering, smell the poverty it started to bother me
Learned how to be a young hog on the corner, learned how to drop them dogs on the corner
Learned how to run when the block got warmer one time 5-0 cops on the corner

Chorus: Papa was a cornerstone (repeat lines)

Block raised me call me crazy, but I swear that the street corners spoke to me
Told me how to stay ahead of the ones, the pimps the hoes and the ones totin the guns
Sometime another voice, seemed to offer another choice
Tellin me to cross on the red light, enticing me to hang there all night
All right what I listen to my heart or follow my crew
Lookin for advice from my daddy when it counts, but he bounced unannounced
Couldn’t choose that quick life cause I saw too many pay a stiff price
1 judge, 12 peers, 3 strikes, 25 years
25 tears from the mother on the front row, in a court or a casket one mo
Raised by the block, grazed by the bullet in the glock
Life stop… It make we wanna shout, I’m a voice for the ones trying to get out

Chorus (repeat lines)

I feel like I only got one shot and I don’t even own a gun
One love to the brothas that’s locked up, still alive sittin on 25
With the L attached and the hell attached of livin in prison stayin in a cell in black
Bars and don’t mean between hooks, I can hit the buzzer beater with a clean look
Chose colors that’s neutral, walked a thin line ‘cause times was crucial
Nothin in the kitchen, went to the mission, slept on floors slept outdoors
As a kid I seen hell been homeless, penniless heatless lightless phoneless
Saw the brothas that came up, every minute on the corner soaked game up
And the minute my seeds was with me, I stepped up to the plate… Griffey
Won’t strike out, won’t bail out, do it propa, single papa
My papa was a cornerstone, my seeds got me and daddy’s home

Chorus