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(feat. Black Child, D.O. Cannon, Young Merc) |
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[Merc] |
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Yeah, yeah, uh |
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Young Merc |
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For all my youg niggaz (All of my young niggaz) |
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On the block, Naa mean (On the block) |
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Going hard (Blow hard nigga) |
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Yo I was raised in poverty (in poverty) |
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Yeah, life was hard |
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Growin up 'round, killaz and hust-lers |
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I used ta, sit on the porch |
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Watch pops smoke luports |
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Trying when he was going to get his next bag to snort |
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I just sit back, deep in thought like (man) |
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Wishin I had a plan to make him a better man |
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But I can't, but that's what made it worse |
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Then I started smokin weed and hustlin work |
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I turned to the streets, fifteen, mind on cash |
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Highschool fliest nigga in the class |
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Why all y'all was studyin trying to pass |
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I was tryna, get the pass, to cut out and get ass |
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I was always ahead of my time |
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Neighbours in the hood said I be locked up |
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Or dead by twenty-five |
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But still I, Ride, wit my head high |
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Knowin I'm a young thug and I will survive |
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[Chorus: Merc] |
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I can't stop (I can't stop) |
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I gotta keep it movin (I gotta keep it movin) |
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Knowin this life I'm livin (Knowin this life I'm livin) |
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It's either death or prison (It's either death or prison) |
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Hard livin |
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[Repeat Once] |
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[D.O. Cannon] |
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Uh, the ghetto |
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We prayin, Lord |
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All of my thugs be given strength |
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POV Shitty |
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You ain't gotta show me love when I'm wearin the glove |
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And I just found out my man done chick slugs |
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And my man rever diss touch down |
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Means alot of niggaz on the streets ain't really gon eat right now |
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Man I'm so mad dog, I can't tell you why |
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If the Lord don't bow down I'll murder the damn sky |
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I'm to hot for this shit, please calm me down |
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I stay doing right, I stay doing wrong |
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I stay huggin my moms I lost in eighty-nine |
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I'm still bangin that nine I had since eighty-nine |
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You niggaz feelin my vibe? |
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Man it's hard to walk, man it's hard to talk |
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Dog I keep quiet |
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Cuz playas wear wires when we start to bring the riot |
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I'm tired of this shit, take me now |
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I'm gon be back in a minute dog don't hate me now |
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I heard the streets wanna smoke me |
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Dog, I'm to lokey |
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It's murda |
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[Chorus: Merc] |
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I can't stop (I can't stop) |
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I gotta keep it movin (I gotta keep it movin) |
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Knowin this life I'm livin (Knowin this life I'm livin) |
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It's either death or prison (It's either death or prison) |
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Hard livin |
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[Repeat Once] |
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[Black Child] |
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Word to god, Yeah |
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I was only twelve when I first went to jail |
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Locked up and sparked it, fucked up and heartless |
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My moms had a habit, heron and acid |
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A bad lil' basterd always needed my ass kicked |
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A five member family living in one room |
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Cookin on hot plates, eatin on plastic spoons |
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I don't esagerate, or imaginate |
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I had to go to jail to graduate |
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Growin up in Foster homes, You Fosters own |
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I had to get up, get out and get my own |
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Niggaz was throwin bricks I'm tossin stones |
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Then I floss the chrome, the boss is home |
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But the block is gone, the cops is wrong |
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Yellow got paralyzed, Little Jemel died |
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Put me in hell and I still rise |
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Put me in the chair I'll fry |
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Do my whole twenty-five |
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[Chorus: Merc] |
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I can't stop (I can't stop) |
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I gotta keep it movin (I gotta keep it movin) |
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Knowin this life I'm livin (Knowin this life I'm livin) |
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It's either death or prison (It's either death or prison) |
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Hard livin |
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[Repeat Once] |
