Good Times, The Jefferson’s and let’s not forget Different Strokes–

Just a few of the scarce outlets for us po folks.

EBT cards, food stamps, and bey bey kids roaming the block,

And that big wooden fork and spoon in the kitchen hanging by the clock.

Welcome to the ghetto, where every month has a holiday on the fifteenth and the first,

And no one complains about missing a meal, ‘cause things could be a whole lot worse.

Something like Junebug going too far and overdosing on some crack,

Or the police harassing and arresting you just because you’re black,

Or getting an old fashion beat-down because the neighborhood bully thinks you’re wack.

Welcome to the ghetto, a luxury in its own way.

Free cable, free food, and juicy gossip all in one day.

Black-eye peas, collard greens, pork chops, and don’t dare forget fried chicken,

And that greedy relative coming unannounced wondering what y’all fixin’.

Welcome to the ghetto, no place like it in the world,

Where life seems so simple, but love is just as precious as a pearl.

And the good times may be overshadowed by the moments that make us sad,

But the meaning the ghetto gives to living certainly outweighs all the bad.

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