{On behalf of PanAm Airlines, we'd like to be the first to welcome you to New York City. We'd like to thank you for flying PanAm. The local time is 6:45 AM and the temperature is 89 degrees.} I been up all night On the red-eye flight The dawn's early light Got the skyline bright We in the back of a car service The driver's kinda nervous 'Cuz I'm tokin' on a blunt that's fat He say, "You know where you at?" I say, "I know where I am And if you really want a tip, Then Mr. don't get flam I ain't tryin' to be rude And I ain't stressin' you, Gramps, But this shit right here, It be the breakfast of champs I been tokin' on this Since I was 13 years old And when I look up at my wall I see platinum and gold And ain't nobody sneezin' At the money I fold And I ain't here for your pleasin', So put that shit on hold Just keep yoor mouth shut And get me to the hotel And turn the radio up While I finish this L" {Welcome back to the 5 Seasons, Mr. Ford. Your usual room is ready and waiting. Let me take your luggage. If you need anything while you're staying, just let me know.} I hop out my car Step into the lobby Everybody's on the floor It's a motherfuckin' robbery The shit's in progress I can feel the stress I whisper silently to God, "How'd I get in this mess?" They tell me to freeze And get down on my knees Between my jewels and my cash, I'm holdin' 35Gs They told me to run it So I got bold and I fronted Like Slick Rick said, I know I shouldn't've done it 'Cuz now they're standin' over me Watchin' me bleed Damn, I got to quit Smokin' all this weed There's a pain in my chest, But, yo, I must be blessed Because before I faded out I saw an EMS The paramedics They greet me with some anesthetics They killin' my pain They screamin' my name They're tryin' to keep me in the conscious world I'm thinkin' 'bout my mom, my sister, and my girl I'm prayin' to God, "Don't let this go too far" As they rush me Into the St. Luke's OR They pull the bullets out my chest Give 'em back in a jar Now I'm wearin' this scar 'Cuz I tried to play hard {Mr. Ford, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. (What you talkin' about?) It would appear that one of the bullets grazed your spine, and damaged your cord. (So what're you tryin' to tell me?) Well, suffice it to say, I don't think you'll be jumping around anymore.} Yo, this can't happen to me I just can't believe it I'm trapped in a wheelchair A paraplegic There ain't no rehab There ain't no therapy For the rest of my life Somebody's gotta take care of me And people stare at me With pity in their eyes And every morning I rise To a life I dispise And every night I think I might Never rock the mic again 'Cuz my brain's fucked up On Percocet and Vicodin Might as well be heroin Pulsin' through my veins Gotta kill these pains Or blow out my brains To free me from these chains I'm trapped in this physical hell To walk again, I just might sell my soul And I'm only 20-some'in' years old