|
I raised up my project window |
|
And I smell Indo |
|
Hollered at my kin folk |
|
After that I big smoke |
|
I hit my nigga Gutta with them gutta ways |
|
All of my cousins bussin' K's |
|
So I was lead astray |
|
And I don't pray, so I'm thinking bout death |
|
I never once, thought bout blinking myself |
|
Cause I got bank to accept! |
|
You heard that green and yellow cd |
|
That bitch gutta! |
|
The world-wide struggle |
|
Or the one about my mother (Child so bad) |
|
I'm bangin' on the corner down in Cali |
|
With the Bloods and Crips |
|
See Lil' Boosie, yeah Lil' Boosie, man we love that shit! |
|
I figured that I'd die in jail if I stay in the hood |
|
So I'm tryin' to make a mil |
|
And get the fuck out Baton Rouge |
|
I wish Tupac'a hear the shit that I was speaking to you |
|
I betcha Tupac'a have Lil' Boosie on an album or two |
|
And did my daddy go to Thug Mansion? |
|
(Shiiit)If he did |
|
I know he saved a spot for his kid |
|
And we gone G' it! |
|
[Chorus: x2] |
|
Keep it gutta, nigga! (Gutta, gutta, gutta! Yeah) |
|
Cause I'm a victim of this game! (Victim of this game mane!) |
|
Let's keep it gutta, nigga! (All the way gutta!) |
|
Cause I was taught to get it hard like a man! For sheezy! |
|
Verse two, is for my hearse crew |
|
Like Raw Nitty, Lil D, and Big Ro too |
|
Do you remember smoking dust with Silky Slim, headbussa? ! |
|
When we was slangin' nine |
|
And had these niggaz scared of us! |
|
My hood full of floods (floods) |
|
But my hood full of thugs |
|
Who in that pen |
|
Rep Baton Rouge til the day that they touch |
|
And you don't know a nigga gutta as me! (Gutta) |
|
Who can tell ya some shit that ya mother'a see |
|
Like you bein' locked up, til 2003 |
|
When you 'posed to be out chea |
|
Flickin' and ballin like me |
|
And all I see, is eyes on me |
|
So like Pac |
|
I hope it's not another fucking robbery |
|
I ain' no rookie! |
|
Fourteen, sellin' cookies! |
|
Had all the hoes looking! |
|
And ya know why nigga |
|
Because I'm gutta! |
|
My pants hang low |
|
My eyes looking wicked too |
|
My throwback cost 400 |
|
It's from 1952! |
|
And ya bitch, you! (Bitch you!) |
|
If you wanna leave this club |
|
I suggest |
|
You don't come around here and try to beef with us |
|
This for my niggaz and guhls |
|
Keep ya head up! |
|
And I'm a keep my bread up |
|
And make ya throw the set up! |
|
I'm keepin' it gutta! |
|
[Chorus] |
|
What you about robbing to eat |
|
What you about peeping yo hood out |
|
To see who want ya to cease |
|
That's the beginning |
|
The ending, is 10 billion (10 billion) |
|
Then I'm threw |
|
Sign all my niggaz deals so they can live, like Lil Boo |
|
I was led on this path to hate |
|
Since I was little |
|
Across the street a ship plant |
|
And next door a fuckin' killer |
|
Calvin Ricks was the shit |
|
It wasn't no ridin' in South |
|
I use to joy his purple jeep |
|
When I walk in my house |
|
And on my chedda chase |
|
I done saw better days |
|
Never thought my selfish ways |
|
Have me blowing purple haze |
|
It hurts to say (Hurts to say) |
|
That my daddy left this world |
|
I wish he could be here to see my pretty ass lil girl |
|
But he can't, so I drink |
|
Get mad and I don't think (Fuck it) |
|
Smoke dro, by the ounce |
|
And sip syrup, by the pint |
|
Ain' too many can fuck with me |
|
That's on my generation |
|
Shouts out to all my niggaz |
|
And my haters who be hatin', get ya hate on! |
