My father moved us to Richmond
He had a job building ships
They needed them for the war
Then they didn't need his labor anymore
So we moved further down the flatlands
Where the rent was cheaper
I started working with a beeper
Now I'm standing at the intersection waiting on the reaper

And the summer comes
We eat our dinner to gunshots
Every night I succumb
To the sound of the homeless guy sorting through my trash

And I'm tired of seeing friends on my T-shirts
And the lessons that these summer seasons teach us
Even Jesus cannot save us from our seizures
So I question my allegiance to this crooked game that breed us

And the summer comes again
And the cops they do nothing
And we're running out of men
And who's gonna build those ships up in Richmond?