I used to want to see the penitentiary, way after elementary Thought it was cool to look the judge in the face when he sentenced me Since my uncles was institutionalised my intuition has said I was suited for family ties My mama is stressing, my daddy tired I need me a weapon, these niggas ride every minute, hour and second, ministers tried to save me, how Im gon listen when I dont even hear God? Heaven or Hell, base it all on my instincts My hands dirty, you worried bout mud in your sink You like to mistake a street nigga for real nigga That same nigga that kill with ya squeal with ya I deal with ya like my son, stare at the sun and youll be looking in my eyes homie Stand for something or fall for anything and you working with two left feet at the skating rink But anyway, this for my niggas Uncles, twenty-three hours sending me pictures I want you to know that Im so determined to blow that you hear the music I wrote, hope it get you off death row You came home to a pocket full of stones A MetroPC phone, then you went back in So when I touch the pen, the pen is in my view Ima get it right just so you Smoke good, eat good, live goo
Posted on: Tue, 11 Mar 2014 16:08:35 +0000
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