This is a story about a little black girl
With pressed hair, ashy knees 
Corn rowed hair and African beads

She grew up knowing the streets
Hustling for a dime
Trying to make ends meet

Her Uncle took her innocence when she was only five years old
Laid her on her back, and took her Gold
She's never been the same since
Been suffering in silence

Now every little boy she meets 
Wants to get her in the sheets

That day her essence was violated
Shattered her dreams, and just abated
Them
Now she's been turned out
Upside down, and has just skimmed
The surface of what she can be
Never realizing she suppressed her animosity.

Yes, this is a story about a little black girl
With pressed hair, ashy knees 
Corn rowed hair and African beads

Hooking and looking for Mr. Goodbar
Found one on the corner
Didn't have to look far

Flashing his money clip
Gun holster on his hip
Gold fronts, brand new Benz
She just needs to know how to make them ends
Meet

He looks her over and then nods his head
First things first, he's got to test her in bed
Break her in
Place his brand, yet again

Just another little black girl lost in the abyss
Not knowing which way to turn
Childhood missed

I pray for all the little black girls
For God to watch thee,
'Cause there's one thing that is true
This little black girl, COULD'VE been me.