songs written by the soul but the gangs in the suburbs among the staves screwed by the swing of blues keep on shouting don?t turn your back of history
He wasn't tripping, but you know how niggaz do You go to jail, mentality of hoe niggaz is fuck you They run off with your paper, and your cheese Cash in off your
a chiropractor come see a Cydal factor get off yo block when rifles splatter come across wit a rival chapter don't be afraid to be blastin an don't know
pro, you should wife her; Hoes follow me, like I'm the fuckin' Pied Piper Sheena, I don't like her! - Titi, I don't want her. Rhonda, I like her, every
Nigga, you shouldn't, even try To fuck with M-J should I pimp this for excersize Woman, I don't want your pussy, now rest your thighs No testin' eyes,
gets weird you know the weird turn pro Your street time is limited 'cuz this band rocks it take your whole crew put 'em all in your pocket if your feelin
3-X You give me respect And if you don't like it get the eject I detect a gang of haters in the 380 Your innovator Beat creators Keep thinkin you gon
start beatin' on you ass Now your clothes all muddy Your nose all bloody Your dick was hard but now its soft(what) You thought you had a girl to rock your
cool, throwin' up gang signs to the gangster (?), shot an enemy from across the street Mamma came home, said she got a good job. Daddy did too. Now they don't
he asks you where you from (where you from homey?) So you wipe your mouth and you try to explain (I don't bang) You start talkin' real fast (I don't bang
throwin' up gang signs to the gangster beat, shot an enemy from across the street Mamma came home, said she got a good job. Daddy did too. Now they don't
went fast as the Vice Had rushed in, bussin', could you imagine this life? The streets come alive and laugh at your sorrows Leavin' your soul hollow That you fill it back