Frank Sinatra - Gangsta’s Paradise

As I strut through the shadows of the death’s alley, I take a gander at my life and see it’s all hooey. ’Cause I’ve been lettin’ ’em have it and yukkin’ it up so long, that Even my old lady thinks my marbles are gone. But I ain’t never given the business to a joe who didn’t have it comin’, Me treated like a sap, you know that’s outta the question. You better mind your flap, and where your dogs are takin’ ya, Or you and your pals might end up outlined in white. I really hate to take a spill but I gotta go on the lam, As they kick the bucket, I see myself in the smoke of my roscoe, mug. I’m the kind of big cheese the young bloods wanna emulate, On my knees in the dead of night, whisperin’ a few words to the man upstairs under the streetlamp. Look at the pickle they got me in, I can’t live a square life, I was brought up by the streets, So I gotta play ball with the gang from my turf. Too much time in front of the tube got me chasin’ pipe dreams. I’m a wise guy with dough on the brain, Got my piece in my mitt and a glint in my peepers. I’m a mad dog mobster, stirrin’ up trouble, And my gang’s got my back so don’t get my dander up, mug. The big sleep’s just a ticker beat away, I’m livin’ life, sink or swim, what can I say? I’m 23 now, but will I see the big two-four? The way the chips are fallin’, I ain’t so sure. Why can’t we see the forest for the trees, That the ones we hurt are you and me? The moolah and the muscle, muscle and the moolah, Minute after minute, hour after hour. Everyone’s scrammin’, but half of ’em ain’t lookin’, Something’s cookin’ in the kitchen, but I’m in the dark. They say I gotta wise up, but there’s no one here to school me, If they can’t speak my language, how can they get through to me? I guess they can’t, I guess they won’t, I guess they’re all talk, that’s why I know I’m up the creek, mug.