Think You Know Me Songtext

von Murs

[Chorus]
You might think that you know me
You know where I'm coming from
You might think everything's all good
But at the end of the day you're all wrong

[Murs]
All blue chuck taylors, blue Dodger hat
85 Regal, my daughter in the back
I'm just a gangsta to most of y'all
On the real we're just hanging on the way to the mall
Weekdays I'm an RN down at Kaiser
Weekends at church I'm a youth adviser
Just because I'm doing good I can't forget my roots
I can never feel right in a tie and suit
Five oh ones (?) in a plain white tee
I stay gettin' stopped by the LAPD
That's just life growin' up in south central
I been done move, but it's not that simple
I gotta come back, my grandmomma there
Sometimes it's drama, but I really don't care
It's my neighborhood and I love it
Showin' all the little homies you can rise above it

[Chorus: x2]
You might think that you know me
You know where I'm coming from
You might think everything's all good
But at the end of the day you're all wrong

[Murs]
All red chuck taylors, red Dodger hat
Posted up at market with a bottle of yak
I'm just a gangsta, that's what they say
But on the real homeboy I just had a bad day
Ten interviews, no call backs
PO askin' me where my job at
I'm an ex-con that's almost useless
I'm a felon, don't mean that I'm stupid
Got caught up, tried as an adult
Lost five years of my life as a result (real talk)
In the feds I prayed and I read
Anything to keep the system up out my head
I read Zen, Young, Bukowski
You really don't know a damn thing about me
I probably gotta higher IQ than you
These jobs ain't hiring, what should I do...

[Chorus: x2]
You might think that you know me
You know where I'm coming from
You might think everything's all good
But at the end of the day you're all wrong

[Murs]
All black dickies, black Cortez,
White wife beater, a fresh shaved head
I'm just a gangsta, that's what you thinkin'
You see me in the crew, posted up by Lincoln
You see my tattoos, you figure why bother?
Really I'm an artist and I got my own parlor
Hard workin' father, wife and two daughters
Strugglin', trying to keep our heads above water
I'm a tax payer, I'm bilingual
I'm chicano, I'm not an illegal (I was born here)
Tryin' to live your American dream
But you keep judging me about how I wear my jeans.
They're 42s, they starched and they creased
I got a education, I got proper speech
I'm from the streets, I'm not less of a man
Just trying to get by and do the best that I can

[Chorus: x2]
You might think that you know me
You know where I'm coming from
You might think everything's all good
But at the end of the day you're all wrong