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*The beat is dope* |
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*Yup* |
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*Word to the mother* |
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*Ah yeah* |
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*And it goes a little somethin like this* |
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*Good God* |
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*The beat is dope* |
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*Yup* |
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*Word to the mother* |
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*And it goes a little somethin like this* |
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How ya livin, a brother kill another for a color |
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Now his family's forced to sit and suffer |
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Gang violence strikes again, the sound of a trigger |
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News at 11, now it's one less nigger, they figure |
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Self-destruction, bro, you're goin low |
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How can you kill a person you don't really even know? |
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In jail you played hard until one slapped you silly |
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Turned you over like a girlie and rode you like a sissy |
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Trapped behind bars in the middle of nowhere |
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Doin 10 to 20, braid another brother's hair |
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On the streets you was dope, you wasn't a joke, nobody could cope |
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You was the king of the dope |
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Shoot a brother in a minute, man, that was your duty |
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But now you're in jail, just givin up the booty |
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Spread em, I'ma show you what it's like in a jail |
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I kick reality, this ain't a crickett fairytale |
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You said you had heart, homeboy, how do you figure |
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Can you prove it without keeping your finger on the trigger? |
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You'se a punk, a peon, a buster, bound to run |
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Never usin your fist, always grabbin a gun |
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Trigger-happy with the gat, brain stiffer than a manakin' |
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Shot an old lady, but you claim it was a accident? |
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Drop the sawed-off, you must be illin' |
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I got a question, homes, how ya livin'? |
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The beat is dope, so I come off smooth, no need to yell it |
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Now what I seen on the streets, I gotta tell it |
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Smokers on the corner at the rock house shack |
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Tryin to scuffle up some money for a 10 piece crack |
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And this is critical, pitiful, life has become more difficult |
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Children on the corner holdin automatic pistols |
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Taught and trained at a young age to kill another |
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But the bad thing about it is, we're killin each other |
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Brothers killin brothers over man-made material |
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It's a like a epidemic, better yet venereal |
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Only if you knew that we was dominant original |
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We'd be prepared mentally as well as physical |
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Some say to make it though, it's gonna take a miracle |
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But they can't hold you back, brother, when you're spirtitual |
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Drop the 40 ounce, you must be illin |
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Yo Aladdin, break it down while I ask em how they're livin |
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Yo |
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Let me tell you bout this crackhead I know |
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Booby was a crackhead smokin that dust |
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Like a fool, he was a sucker I never could trust |
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Used to let him in my house, he didn't need no permission |
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Until my goddamn VCR came up missin |
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Sprung on the pipe like a fish on a hook |
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Yo, Booby got labelled as a neighborhood crook |
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Seen him with a color TV in his hand |
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Walkin down the streets sparked, lookin for the dopeman |
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Skinny as hell from just hittin the pipe |
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Lost his job, his two kids, the beautiful wife |
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He'd sell his mother if you gave him a chance |
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Long as Booby got a piece of crack in his hands |
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Hey yo, you know what's sad, or should I say it's a shame? |
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The way c-r-a-c-k destroys the brain |
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Think - somebody wanna see these things |
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Another dumb brother just smokin cocaine |
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Suckin up crack until your lips turn purple |
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From rehab to rehab, you're runnin in a circle |
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It's mandatory I touch this category |
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That's why I made it simple, self-explanatory |
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It shouldn't take long for me to state what's on my mind |
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Why should I sit and write a 10-minute-long rhyme? |
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Hey yo, drop the 40 ounce, you must be illin' |
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So I conclude this rhyme with how ya livin'? |
