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Lord forgive me |
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[Verse 1] |
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Kill him where he stand and stand over him, shake his hand |
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Then jump back in that mini van, double back to his block and blam I ain't backing down for nothing |
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I'ma back em down like Shaq with this black 2-2-3 in my hand |
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Better pray that this chopper jam like a radio single, man |
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Police radio signals sayin' that a 187 land on your corner; |
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Coroners comfort your mama |
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"Mama he's dead", the next morning I toasted up with my homies |
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We drink and smoke marijuana, want us to change our ways? Uh-huh |
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You see this game we play come from uncles that raised me in Compton |
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Ask me what I have accomplished I don't know I don't have conscience |
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I just load up and start dumpin' on enemies; I'm head hunting |
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No sympathy, ain't no love when you in these streets just get something |
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Protect ya neck cuz they comin' for sets, respect, split your onion |
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Then chop your deck your head tumblin' like gymnastics |
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Cause ignorance is bliss |
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[Hook: Schoolboy Q] |
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Now everybody put your hands up high |
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If you don't give a ****, put your hands up high |
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[Verse 2] |
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This the hardest shit you've heard from LA this far |
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And I'm this far, from a discharge but never will I dish off |
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We all tryna ball and when I got the rock I'll dish off |
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Until the day I pistol whip you posers till ya'll pissed off |
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Then peel off, in a hooptie |
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Come back and make these niggas wanna shoot me |
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And they bitches wanna salute me or seduce me |
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Indubitably I'm too street |
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Indubitably I'mma do me |
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Better than your bitch would |
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But you niggas too weak, but just give me 2 weeks and I'm good |
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I'll make an album that'll put a smile on Malcolm |
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Make Martin Luther tell God I'm the future for Heaven's talent |
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No tarot card reading; I'm foreseeing you niggas vanish |
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Not only from the rap game, I'm including the planet |
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Cats so watered down clowns can sink Titanic |
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Tie titanium around their neck and watch em panic |
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Give me respect, dammit, or get damaged |
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Die young, corpse identified by your parents |
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Apparently you're a parrot |
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Mocking me and my blueprint |
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But I won't share it just make you cop it then call you a sheriff |
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Stop it, I'm hearin' the comments |
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The critics are calling me conscious |
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But truthfully, every shooter be callin' me Compton |
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So truthfully, only calling me Kweli and Common? |
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Proves that ignorance is bliss |
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[Hook] |
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[Verse 3] |
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And this still the hardest shit you've heard from LA this far |
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And I'm this far, from a discharge but never will I dish off |
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This my world, I grab the universe then play kickball |
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And they wonder why these California earthquakes hit so hard |
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I'm So-Cal, you so-called rappers need to go call |
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Ghostbusters to shoot busters I'm Casper when I go off |
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I show up, to show out and show off |
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You a hundred percent behind me |
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And if you hard then wreck your car and walk up to my crime scene |
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I remember being 17 wishing someone would sign me |
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Now the only way these labels get me back is when they rewind me |
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Backin' down bargains |
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Backin' down bitches |
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We gon' flip her once she off that blue dolphin |
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You gon' tip her |
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Cuz ignorance is bliss |
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And Willie B, I'm a fool on yo beats, I bleed out the speaker as the speaker that spoke when they didn't speak |
