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Reader's Note: |
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- Obviously there are a ton of portions of the transcribing of this song that could use some improvement, meaning that I'd be very happy to receive suggestions for lyric corrections! |
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- That being said, there are probably mistakes throughout, and there are portions of text within brackets with a question mark at the end (E.G. ["She see a Jay don't leave their house and a loan?"]) where I honestly had no idea what Qwellie had said, so those areas need the most help! |
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[Intro 1: Derrick Rose's voice (spoken)] |
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It's truly a blessing... With all this stuff that's going on in this city. All this is great, but... I can't explain... We ain't supposed to be here |
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[Sample Intro: Woman Singing (heard throughout)] |
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Oh, Chicago you |
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Oh, Chicago you |
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Pray for me, I pray for you |
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Oh, pray for me, I pray for you |
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[Verse 1: Qwel] |
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That's word to dirty banshees and rock-blowers and blow the cops |
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Not supposed to notice like [no we're wack and reloadin' docks?] |
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With tears run the mazes and numb faces |
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And fears comes and goes, stung the stages in the front pages |
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And tippy-toe the slushy street where the drunk sleeps |
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The Red Line; Stuck in Vietnam and the bum screeches |
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Of rusty beaches, and deep water, and one-eyed pigeons |
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A fight for chicken bones amidst the sunshine thinning |
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Everybody got their punchlines grinnin', she know a thousand good poems |
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[She see a Jay don't leave their house and a loan?] |
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Bulgin' shoulders [?] to know folks'll pull the shades on the roses |
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Turn the [brown for the code?] |
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Down for they code, and bang on polygons for the half-brim |
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Earth steady stagnant and heavy habits, the backspin |
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Summer's swamp, shady's confetti, cabbage, and aspirin |
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When the Rev' get the cheddy fast to pay for their last sin |
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[Lead-In To Chorus: Qwel] |
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Baby hungry, momma thirsty |
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But let me hold somethin', dog, I got you Thursday |
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Vultures serve over roaches, swerve crumbs |
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Commotion as the folks turn numb |
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[Chorus: Qwel] |
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Heaven's a million miles from the ill |
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It's hard to see the stars with a mouth full of pills |
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Heaven's a million miles from the go |
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It's hard to see the sky with a nose up in the snow |
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Heaven's a million miles from the Chi' |
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It's hard to see the sky with the smoke up in the eye |
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Heaven's a million miles from Chicago |
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Only see the stars when she's tippin' back a bottle |
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[Verse 2: Qwel] |
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Crowd 'em in the block and then rip it down in Chicago |
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Quick county lock-up or block-up, blocka shouting tomorrow |
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It's different |
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We got our own Olympics, the first of twenty get gold |
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The four for forty, two for twenty get [owed / owned / old?] |
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Walkin' block, beholdin' old-ass shorties that got that blow bag |
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And hold that forty, [and rap for (?)], slow as warnings |
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That know nine hundred ninety good poems, it's all lost |
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Nobody trying to get home and that's effed up |
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Miracle [mods?] just like a diamond that blisters the pride |
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Of 5's and 6's dying to the time of the twister |
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But get that lit up, swirl that pot on the burner |
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Follow fixture, while the sister make [learn 'em?] |
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The violent [fiction?] they turn 'em, no conviction |
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Can't deter 'em, addiction'll earn his mother food |
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Cause ain't no cages turn no jungles to zoos |
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The "Lake Effect", when some are numbin' the youth |
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Neutral martyrs, take your heart and fill your lungs with the blues |
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[Lead-In To Chorus: Qwel] |
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[Chorus: Qwel] |
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[Verse 3: Qwel] |
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Nothing new up in the zoo, just holding moldy picture |
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But killing children, spilling it from Holy Scripture |
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My windy city calling out my favorite, she whispers |
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But watch that brim in the winter |
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She hate it |
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She knows eight hundred eighty good poems |
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Ain't nothing changed since Mayor Daley been thrown or Robert Taylor |
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Plus the Cabrini is gone, Ida B. Wells, and Henry Horner, and the Ickes is gone |
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The Stateway, working [late throat?] |
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The list goes on, she can't afford a crib, she get those [drones?] |
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They gon' flip those phones, and tip those blows |
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And [rocks in park?], forgot the stars, grown cold |
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[Repetition of pieces of the Chorus: Qwel] |
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Heaven's a million miles from Chicago |
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Only sees the stars when she's tippin' back a bottle |
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Heaven's a million miles from Chicago |
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Only sees the stars when she's tippin' back a bottle |
