| that nigga ain’t from muhfuckin’New York
|
| That nigga be out there with them Cali niggas
|
| Yo nigga man fuck Pac that nigga West Coast
|
| that fucker that always with them New York niggas
|
| seen them with that nigga man that nigga ain’t from the West Coast
|
| Man fuck Pac fuck that nigga that nigga ain’t really down
|
| rapin’ass nigga I didn’t do it fuck it with that nigga
|
| fuck that nigga man fuck that nigga let that nigga go to jail right
|
| and fuck that nigga fuck that nigga fuck you too nigga
|
| 2Pac (overlapping)
|
| I’m in this muthafucka
|
| I guess these muthafuckas tryin’to take me out the business right
|
| I guess I ain’t East Coast enough for my niggas back in New York
|
| and I ain’t West Coast for these niggas on the West huh?
|
| Fuck e’rybody
|
| Heh heh heh…
|
| Thug style out this muthafucka niggas throw ya hands in the air
|
| If you got Jeep make ya speakers pop
|
| I want muthafucking police trying to pull niggas over on this one
|
| We taking this one to the whole 'nother level gutter style Thug style
|
| You feel me, things that we can only do as a real G We ain’t dead yet, feel me!
|
| I got my Hennessy find ya foes
|
| in a room full of niggas tryin’to hide ya hoes
|
| I’m getting high off buddha
|
| 'Cause the times be slow
|
| I keep my mind on dough
|
| you never find me broke
|
| and who meee a nigga livin’life like a G in that artillery keepin’niggas off of me
|
| I can’t sleep living in these wicked times
|
| peep, niggas after me 'cause they see I’m stacking G’s and heat
|
| You can holler if you want to pleeease
|
| I ain’t runnin’with no punk crew beeee
|
| enemies and my range is on you’re in the danger zone
|
| my fuckin’game is strong, Hotline
|
| You suckas better find ya mind I got mine
|
| from hustling and busting them rhymes
|
| to my niggas up in Quentin
|
| Down on Riker’s Isle stay rile
|
| But a nigga gotta use his styles
|
| These,
|
| Niggas don’t know my style
|
| quick to smile juvenile
|
| Was a problem child
|
| try to put me in the courts
|
| But my force was wild
|
| Bitchmade ass niggas don’t know my style
|
| These,
|
| Niggas don’t know my style
|
| quick to smile juvenile
|
| Was a problem child
|
| try to put me in the courts
|
| But my force was wild
|
| Bitchmade ass niggas don’t know my style
|
| I could be wrong but I never got along with cops
|
| it’s like they stuck
|
| from making niggas duck from Glocks all the time
|
| my mind’s full of thoughts of ends
|
| I’m still rolling my bucket but I bought me a Benz (tadow)
|
| My fake friends say they love me but I know they lie
|
| cause in the dark see they hearts’full of homicide
|
| My mama cried when they took me off to jail
|
| only me inside the cell
|
| Straight locked up in this hell
|
| I hear some sucka screaming like the demon’s inside
|
| will 'em away in the morning
|
| Only the strong survive
|
| I cry but in my own way
|
| Swallow my pride pick a reason to hide
|
| from all the niggas that die (Rest in Peace)
|
| cemetary full of brothers I buried
|
| It’s going down even now I wonder
|
| will I still be around my hometown is the gutter
|
| I was born a wild came up out this dust
|
| with my heartless style
|
| These,
|
| I remember Uptown huh got to get to listenin'
|
| to Mr. Magic cuttin’up the hits
|
| and even though I had habit makin’words rhyme
|
| I was caught up in the madness
|
| Juvenile thugs come on I tell the whole story nothin’but truth
|
| Halloween throwin’eggs from the project roofs
|
| and Pete and Lee young G’s
|
| with a gift of gab and tryin’to hook up with the hookers
|
| who was quick to stab remember mama’s cooking
|
| No school straight hookin'
|
| and tryin’to get with light skinned
|
| cause she good looking
|
| And jumpin’over turnstiles 'cause we ain’t paying
|
| call the cuties cuss words but we only playing (biotch)
|
| I’m prayin’I can get a buck no luck
|
| I had to move around a lot
|
| 'cause my moms was stuck
|
| I had family but I was way too wild
|
| had to move to the West to regain my style
|
| These,
|
| Chorus 'til end with ad libs |