This is a song about "Growin up poor"

Poor black people get put down, and are caught up in it,

That i'mma pay for with dimes, nickels and quarters and shit

Create life with the beats, alicia keys

The strange fruit, crops growin', blowin' in the breeze,

Still standin' and in love with my prideheard frivolous beats, we past that

And i grew up poor with no cash flow in the country, you ain't even know it,

We was loonie i suppose, you could

I remember growing up, poor neighborhood.

You're fed up with the way things are going, you're poor and sick and tired

It's like i'm an alien who alienates by the herd, so as far as being heard

The segregated south, with the strange fruit growin',

Swift-made switch blades made a big incision in him

I grew up poor, but artists brag about it and keep talking,

Are much important i'm getting angrier while recording

I'm forever dope, you can check your schedule

I'm a poor white kid, got beat up everyday but stayed in school,