I'm a tell you what I'm talking bout When I was a young boy My mama always told me don't take no shit Mother****er hit you then you better hit him back So when I hit the nigga it go blame And nigga outta line Back when I was 'bout big wheels and race tracks Pop push the tornado and rode to eight tracks Never stood a chance, exposed from way back Lying to the baby, saying it's AjaxI was about four, when I walked passed that door That should have been closed where I first witnessed the raw See in my household it was quite unique Playing' hide and seek you might find a key Car blames accidents so late branded my mental Hal's my role model in that Lincoln Continental Bought all my friends icees, it was about six And when he pull off I was like "See told you we was rich" How I turned out let it be no surprise When they speak of cousin Ricky it brings tears to their eyes, see My family got a history of hustlers Lil' brother, big brother, mother to grandmother, it's tradition I'm a tell you what I'm talking bout When I was a young boy My mama always told me don't take no shit Mother****er hit you then you better hit him back So when I hit the nigga it go blame And nigga outta line, I said, "Mother****er's outta line" My momma didn't see it coming, my daddy was there What's my excuse? Cartoons were the root Started with Yosemite Sam With the gun in palm of each hand What couldn't I demand see Thirteen, studied the gansta's lean Lil' grim no smile, lotta cash meanwhile Daddy had the Chrystler fifth avey Hustlers on the block cars were aerodynamic With ghetto paint jobs, mango M 3'sOn seventeen inch BB's, riding tough The bike was huffy, attention was froze And a twenty-five cent frozen cup laid my soul The streets had made the mold Since fourteen holding' push a T was chosen Rebel like Che Gueverra, RC Tyco verses Carrera, pick I'm a tell you what I'm talking bout When I was a young boy My mama always told me don't take no shit Mother ****er hit you then you better hit him back So when I hit the nigga it go blame blame And nigga outta line, I said, "Mother****er's outta line" I think of grandma and the weight she would foot 'em She kinda remind me of Madame Queen in hoodlum Spoiled the grandkids, each one she would treasure Said she kept two guns and to do so was a pleasure The cigarette dangled, forty-five degree angle Still every bit a lady but you don't wanna tangle Let that explain me and how I got involved Young N's hustlers in the creek, me, Jon Jon and JamalAge fifteen, walking through the hallway Played the New Jordan's, first one's on the scene See I could afford them, living out a dream Hustler on the rise, laces untied Slid pass Young N's, couldn't break my stride Didn't know I was knotted in street ties Teachers asking how and why, bitches passing by Oh my he so gangsta! I'ma tell you what I'm talking about When I was a young boy My mama always told me don't take no shit Mother****er hit you then you better hit him back So when I hit the nigga it go blame And nigga outta line, I said, "Your nigga's outta line" I'ma tell you what I'm talking about Outta line!