| «Rock that shit homey" — sample
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| 2003, yeah, «yeah, why’all', it’s on now
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| It’s bout to go down, 20−03, no doubt
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| G.G.O., get your coats
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| On the dirty blocks of Red Hook, we learned to get our first checkbook
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| Be a crook, let the cocaine cook
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| Little brothers turn to workers, cops draw guns
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| So they search us, and question us about the murders
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| Until they figure, why, God cursed us
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| And that this wicked world was never worth us
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| We show respect, to the ones who birthed us
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| Took care of us, on welfare, we gold now, belchin' from beers
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| Smoke weed in the project stairs
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| Half my peers, got hit with like, fifteen years
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| And the age we was at, was like, sixteen years
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| Grades was callin', hopin' if the slay’s was fallin'
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| Has the ghetto take the lives of those, made for ballin'
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| Layin' in coffins, cries to the church organ
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| Some will hustle 'til six in the morning
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| Just for the fortune, for a new whip, invented for flossin'
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| Cop the Benz, from the auto auction
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| We broke his window with a piece of porcelein
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| Stay strapped for them jealousy cats
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| Lay they heads, same place they do they felonies at
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| You ain’t the only one who sell crack, and got gats
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| Alotta niggaz got that, some left with death and never got back
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| Some will cock back, and pop that, so pop shit without that
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| Be careful what you follow if you ain’t about that
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| «We lookin' at the words that you dealin' with remember
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| The beginning was the word… the beginninning of your illusion
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| Is based upon, the construct of land, and how language is used
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| Or misused, and how you are ignorant, to how a language is used»
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| Age of 12, I played with them brothers in hell
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| Only role models that I had, was dead or in jail
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| Crack sales make a black male, want to be twelve
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| Six hundred Benz, shittin' with a hot female
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| All I want to do is make records, and pay my bills
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| Why I gotta be a hater, 'coz I say what I feel?
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| I say a prayer than I aim, before I can wave at will
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| You gonna make me want to kill, why’all delay why’all deal
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| Hurry up, and get them contracts, that’s for real
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| Or I’mma have to pull out thirty eight, stainless steel
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| 4th Disciple cook a beat up, and watch you spill
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| Hot lava, my throat burn, like straight shots of vodka
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| Ready to ride, like Big Poppa, I put the curse on witchdoctor
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| It’s 2G, you better spit proper, and I don’t care if your shit is Prada
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| You make no sense to this big dollar,
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| I want the cash money, fuck an Oscar |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Angel Tears, artist - 4th DiscipleAlbum song Digital Dope, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп