Don't you remember you told me
You loved me baby?
You said you'd be coming back this way again
Baby baby baby baby ohhh baby
I love you, yeah, I really do

Uhh, it's real dear Lord, yeah
This letter is from Saigon, the Yardfather
We fucked up Lord will, talk, to 'em
I tell 'em

It's alright, it's alright
I know my rent is overdue
They 'bout to shut off my light
And even if I get a job, too late
You're too right gotta do what I gotta do to
Get this loot up tonight it's alright
I write a letter dedicated to God
First I'll thank him
Without him I'da never made it this far
But it's hard tryin to think of
Why he not gettin involved
It's a lady with a newborn
Baby livin in the car
The police is beatin us up
The hurricane is eatin us up
Katrina flood water was deep as a fuck
Dear Lord, are we ever gon' receive a reward
For all the sufferin and pain
And misery we endure?
Just like Trans-Atlantic slave
Trade, the AIDS, the crack
When are we ever gon' get paid back?
PS: write your boy S to the A back
And tell Luther we got a joint
We gave that stays on playback

When you told me you loved me
(that's what you told me, ain't it?)

(You said you, you, you said you
You said that you was comin back) I'm back

You told me you was comin back
That I would see you but
You never told me when
I want you here to guide me by my side
So it doesn't have to be in vain
So never leavin you again

It's alright, it's alright
They narcotized our neighborhood flood
The ghetto with white my nigga only 21
He too young for two strikes
But if he catch another felony
He gonna do life, that ain't right
I write a letter dedicated to our
Father who art in Heaven
Muslim brothers call him Allah
And they all tryin to think of
Why he not gettin involved
America is bombin them for no reason at all
Gas prices eatin us up
Parole officers cheatin us yup
They lock us in for dirty pee in a cup
Ayo I know you love us Lord
But please show black people a sign
To us, society's a lethal design
Them A T-Liens adapt to the track
Up top, we call it the block
When not most of the crackers live that
C'mon Lord
You don't see nothin the matter with that?
Hit me back, I think me and you need to chat

To all the ladies havin babies on they own
These niggas ain't shit ma
For real yo? You better off alone
If he ain't smart enough to
Know why he should stay
Then what could he possibly
Teach his seed anyway?
You gotta grind like you never grind
Even if it mean you gotta
Shake your never mind
I know I read your mind
You gotta do what you gotta
Get it together ma a baby ain't temporary
That shit's forever ma
A mother's love is the freshest kind
That'll get y'all through the hard times
The pain and the stress combined
Raise your seed, you don't need no man
Especially one that need to be de-programmed
Type brother think he righteous cause
He don't eat no ham but he keep plans of
Fuckin with some kilograms
Girlfriend, you know what you do
When the time is right
You tell your lil' one that it's alright
For real, keep your head up

I dedicate this song
To the whole Abandoned Nation
If you've been abandoned in any
Sense of the word
Then you part of this Abandoned Nation
Gotta take it for what it's worth, right
God love us young brothers, that's right
To all my brothers on lockdown
The whole Abandoned Nation let's go

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, O/B/O DistroKid, Royalty Network, Songtrust Ave, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Spirit Music Group
Writer(s): BONNIE BRAMLETT, BRIAN CARENARD, DELANEY BRAMLETT, Justin Scott Smith, LEON RUSSELL, MALCOLM RAYMOND SMITH, Malcolm Smith, TAISHA KUHTZE