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[LeAlan Jones] "I remember one time I was over at my Auntie house spending the night. And we playin' Super Nintendo. I hear this lady: 'Yo, I heard you been looking for me, nigga' Then she just -- boom-boom-boom-boom-boom! She let off about eight shots. Then I heard the other gun fire off and we were just still there playing there, like nothin' happened. And then Vietnam, them people came back crazy. I (live) in Vietnam So what you think I'ma be if I live in it and they just went and visited?" [Saigon] |
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Suckers could not survive without philoso-phy |
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When somebody dies, you see why |
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I'm not suprised? |
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Had a plot to rise since |
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I looked in the doctor's eyes |
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Since I started drinkin milk through what's homogenized |
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I would strive with or without a pops to provide |
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Moms still cries 'cause she fell for a crock of lies |
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I try to teach her to fight her fears |
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I try to teach her to wipe her tears |
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Don't worry, shit gon' be aight this year |
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I'm at the top of my game, just watch for my name |
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Better off poppin my brain than poppin my chain (dang!) |
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I claim king without droppin a thing |
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When they ask if |
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I'm the best, |
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I reminisce of the bing and think... [LeAlan Jones] |
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When I was ten, |
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I seen my first automatic weapon |
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A Glock Nine -- two clips. [Lloyd Newman] |
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I seen all kinds of guns -- .44, .22, (Techs!) |
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Techs. I saw rifles. [Jones:] |
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Mac 10, Mac 11. [Newman:] |
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Living around here. |
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You hear shooting all the time. [Saigon] |
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Damn.. The drama's pitiful, lil' niggaz is homicid-ical |
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Couple meals ago, shorty was eatin through his umbilical |
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Now he feels he unkillable, shit is all amazing |
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The wrong altercation'll leave his ass with a long abrasion |
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I try to make my life de-focal through rhymes |
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These niggaz do vocal booth crimes, |
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I shot niggaz multiple times |
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You sold a few dimes, but when you rappin, you the crack king |
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I sold it to whites when you thought it was just a black thing |
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I'm filled with this realness, rappers happen to lack it |
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I'm flabbergasted you got a platinum plaque for that wack shit |
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All the real gangstas, they on their way to bein dead or in jail |
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They don't make records to sell [Lloyd Newman] |
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I asked my father, |
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Chill, what his best memories of my mother are. ['Chill'] |
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Me and her have fun, putting our feet in the water together |
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We were sober then... but once we started gettin high.. |
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Them memories gone... |
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They gone. [Newman:] |
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Why are you drinking? [Chill:] |
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I don't understand why |
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I'm drinking. [Newman:] |
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Do you think you're gonna stop? [Chill:] |
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Yeah, I'm going to rehab, and take care of myself. [Newman:] |
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What do you drink? [Chill:] |
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I drink about two or three pints of wine a day. |
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But it ain't helping me, ain't doin nothin' but killing me. |
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Don't people understand it's destroying you? [Newman:] |
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If it's destroying you, why do you still drink? |
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Do you think you've been a good father? [Chill:] |
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Yes, I have, to the best capability |
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I could. [Newman:] |
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I have no further questions. [Saigon] |
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The drama's pitiful, lil' niggaz is homicid-ical |
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Couple meals ago, shorty was eatin through his umbilical |
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Now he feels he unkillable, shit is all amazing |
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The wrong altercation'll leave his ass with a long abrasion |
|
I try to make my life de-focal through rhymes |
|
These niggaz do vocal booth crimes, |
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I shot niggaz multiple times |
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You sold a few dimes, but when you rappin, you the crack king |
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I sold it to whites when you thought it was just a black thing |
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I'm filled with this realness, rappers happen to lack it |
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I'm flabbergasted you got a platinum plaque for that wack shit |
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All the real gangstas, they on their way to bein dead or in jail |
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They don't make records to sell |
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They don't make records to sell |
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They don't make records to sell |
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They don't make records to sell |
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They don't make records to sell |
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They don't make records to sell |
