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Yo, |
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This joint right here |
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Is dedicated |
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To the infamous, late great |
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Donald Goines |
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Word life, C-R-U, Cru representaion |
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"Black Girl Lost" her pop is "Daddy Cool" |
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Former "Dopefiend" now a pimp, damn fool |
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He's a "Black Gangster", "Inner City Hoodlum" |
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Phat prankster, must admit a pretty good one |
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But little do he know he on a "Death List" and shit |
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This'll be "Kenyatta's Escape", "Kenyatta's Last Hit" |
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"Crime Partners" he and Ken' was |
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Till one day they spark that traum up and got a buzz |
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Said he heard Kenyatta had phoned his wife |
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So, he shot him over this rumor, tried to take his life |
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Promised Kenyatta would "Never Die Alone" |
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So he went home, and shot his wife while she was on the phone |
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Shot her in the head and then she lay dead |
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Pimp jeted in his "Eldorado Red" |
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Kenyatta didn't die he would "Cry Revenge" |
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Wouldn't stop till he saw the pimp's dead end |
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Pimp went to whore house to see his "Street Players" |
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Collect all the doe cause yo that's what the game is |
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Pimps called "Swamp Man" cause he's like a Munster |
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Violent in the street ever since he was a youngster |
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See you was a "Whoreson", son of a whore |
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And from this the violent mental scars we wore |
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Forgot about Kenyatta thought Kenyatta was ghost |
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While doin what he gotta tryin to make the most |
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And for those two shootins, he never got caught |
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Smart man ended up in the new house he bought |
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Ken' found out with the quickness where he lived |
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Written the address then went up the crib |
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Ooze and vest he ain't fest |
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Sprayed his rest, shit is best to put that pimp to the test |
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Six months later Ken' was back |
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Instead of an ooze this time he had a mack in his backpack |
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Yawnin, in the wee hours of the mornin |
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Pimps' known to leave his whorehouse at dawnin |
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There he is, suddenly appears |
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Nuthin in his hand except a six-pack of Heiniken beers |
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Steps out the bushes, the trigger he pushes |
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Hits up "Swamp Man" and mad blood gu-shes |
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Fills him with lead, puts the last in his head |
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Then slides, "Swamp Man" lay dead |
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Runs up a few blocks there go the cops |
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They must have heard the RAT-A-TAT-pops of the shots |
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His mind's racin wonderin what he should |
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Give up or say, "Fuck It!", and spray the cops too |
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Stops in his tracks and bends down to kneel |
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She been shot before yo he know how it feels |
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He drops his gun, and with it the beef |
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Now a "White Mans Justice Black Mans Grief" |
