Mark Ronson - The Corner Lyrics

[Intro: Saigon]
Mark Ron. Saigon. Paint the windows black. It’s over now

[Verse 1: Saigon]
Finally home from up
North, shit. Already, talk leaking through the faucet
‘Cause I ain’t slinging horse shit, they think that I’m on some soft shit
Whatever, God. I’ma work hard to find me a job
If that don’t work, let them be the first jerks that I rob
But no, I’m trying change it around. Tired of being
Chained to the ground. From Africa, we came with a crown
When you’re locked down, your mind frame remaining in town
You hardly ever had nightmares of getting slain on the Nile
Fast as they released me, I done turned out my man who want
To piece me with a key, see, to flip it whenev’ it easy
But now I’m job hunting, feeling the more aggravation
Knowing when they seen “Convicted,” they tore the application
They probably placed it in the wastebin while I’m at the crib
Pacing, waiting impatient for a call they ain’t making
And if I baked a cake, then my momma be stressing honesty
Here and now like, “Honey, what happens ain’t what you promised me”
“Mommy, honestly, look: I got strikes first. With a nigga, second
They think I was living hectic ‘cause I got a prison record
You think they believe I did dirt but was disinfected?
No, they just neglect to tell me if I come in there, I was misdirected”
[Hook]
From the
Street corner to the jail cell block
Lost souls, crack fiends, and crooked cops
Crime sprees, cheap wine, trees, and drug spots
They say it’s all good when it’s really all not
Someone is crying. I feel your pain
Swallow your tears and call out my name
A lifetime of sorrow gets burned in the flame
The sun comes tomorrow to chase away the rain

[Verse 2: Saigon]
Yo, how
Couldn’t I serve fiends? There was fifty-six in my building
I even hit the souper with something for fixing our ceiling
I was the only kid at thirteen out at four in the morning
Niggas was in their mirrors, I was on the corner yawning
Running with kids that was wanted—murder ones and beyond. The
Police reacting off any info the informants respond with
(There was I), captivated by garments, Rugers with the
Chrome compartments, teenagers with keys to their own apartments
Young king, my corner park bench. Sold this nigga Drab
50 slabs. Just got out his sixth rehab. The fuck
Did I care? The hell of a hole in his cerebellum come
Dummy wanna smoke jumbs? Dammit, I’m selling him some
That was my attitude after that street life molested me
Listen so you can see how shit indirectly affected me
Same nigga Drab who I told you I sold them slabs to
Needed more to maintain and was down to do what he had to
Walked up on this old lady, put his hand in his pocket and told her
“Give me the purse!” She screamed, hoping the coppers would roll up
He grabbed the purse, which was strapped to her opposite shoulder
She hit her head and leg when she fell, but her noggin was swoller
Before anyone could stop to console her, Drab was showing me
What he got in his hold-up. Noticed my mother wallet—hold up!
My brain blanked, swore before God. Looked to see
One of my old report cards splattered, drabbled over the courtyard
No, my ma never recovered from my backless war
Fractured skull. Said she might walk again, but they ain’t sure
Drab moms still wanted relentlessly. When they sentenced me
She requested that I get no less than infinity
All of this is fiction, but just as well could’ve been real
What they call killing four patients with one pill and it’s ill
But it’s real
And it’s ill, but it’s real, and it’s ill, but it’s real
[Hook] (x2)
From the
Street corner to the jail cell block
Lost souls, crack fiends, and crooked cops
Crime sprees, cheap wine, trees, and drug spots
They say it’s all good when it’s really all not
Someone is crying. I feel your pain
Swallow your tears and call out my name
A lifetime of sorrow gets burned in the flame
The sun comes tomorrow to chase away the rain