|
Word... Things ain't what they used to be out here, man |
|
Ain't no more easy living, no more man |
|
You best to recognize, man, it's a struggle out here, man |
|
We forced to do, what we got to do, to survive |
|
It wasn't nothing like this back in the days, man |
|
Word, shit got to change |
|
[Verse 1: Mic Geronimo] |
|
Increasing murders, Three-strike life servers, burners, informers |
|
Guiliani's crews on us |
|
The heat's just like the guns that we bust shot up |
|
Poisoning the little ones, now they grow corrupt |
|
It's different stages, environment got most vision tainted |
|
Murals on the corner, Rest in Peace now a painting |
|
Haters seeing the dehumanization of a being |
|
But worst of all most of y'all don't know what I'm meaning |
|
And strange days, time seems to move so fast |
|
Only concerns is the cash, and a whip to match |
|
See this life is like a bid but it won't do me |
|
And it's funny nothings really like it used to be, one, two |
|
[Chorus, with Marvin Gaye singing] |
|
Well things ain't what they used to be |
|
[x4] |
|
[Verse 2: Mic Geronimo] |
|
The epidemics, narcotics, paramedics |
|
Everybody eager at a party just to wet it |
|
And felonies, armed robberies, and sprees |
|
Higher rates on a key, ghetto love disease |
|
More discreetly you choose, who to ****ing trust |
|
Nowadays bulletproof, and a Phills a must |
|
Most of us serving, or peeling the yardage on the charges |
|
Incarcerated cut-off from the world, disregarded |
|
Crack babies retardly born, dis-formed |
|
And fathers known for shooting China-White inside they arm |
|
Desert Sickness, planet Earth at it's illest |
|
Strategically the illest, plan a man in specifics |
|
Life is like a bid, but it won't do me |
|
Mentally these are the things that I should not see |
|
And I'm standing here, counting all the casualties |
|
Cause things ain't nothing really like they used to be, one, two |
|
[Chorus x4] |
|
[Verse 3: Mic Geronimo] |
|
Like a night sky |
|
Saw the darker levels, leading teams of rebels |
|
And steaming these streets, just like kettles |
|
Dime minds can rarely walk the concreate, eroded |
|
Playing, I made a folding, off the cards I was holding |
|
Young, Stand between you, from the phantom, ghetto backs drops a cannon |
|
Life at understanding, a maturity stage |
|
Still a thug, and some will stay the same, for most of his days |
|
Flushing to South Jamaica raids, saw the time change hands |
|
Caravans go to MP's after that Lex Lands |
|
And it's bugged just the product of |
|
I came to be, and it's funny nothings really like it used to be, one, two |
|
[Chorus] |
