![Drugs in My Vein - DJ JS-1, C-Rayz Walz, Breez Evahflowin](https://cdn.muztext.com/i/32847522529953925347.jpg)
Date of issue: 28.02.2002
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Ground Original
Song language: English
Drugs in My Vein |
Hip hop like drug in my veins, killing me harshly |
This could be my end if I don’t win. |
Don’t start me |
In street life, I’m hugging the flames—get this heat off me |
Tie the knot, eating not, driving, riding the iron horsie |
I love hip hop for the lack of something worse to do |
I spit high, then just rock. |
This is impersonal |
Free shows, flee flows, wonder if I’m breaking even |
Eating Fritos—word to snacks, I just start breaking even |
Hatin' seein' what I love misused and abused |
Mind bleeding, confusion, focus, a loser succeedin' |
I ask questions to answers and define reason |
Like cancer to a cigarette lung having fun, still breathing |
Smokers suck butt, no pun intended |
I’m tryin' to get big in the Bronx like Pun intended—what?!? |
I’m still booking if you looking, still juxing, still crazy |
Just got my straight jacket on. |
I crooked look as… |
I thought that I was all about it |
But my mind remained clouded from weed. |
Without it, what you read about it? |
Crazy man ran through the train car crowded |
Strapped with bang-bars, dramatic |
Expression in face destined to taste it |
While finessing the basics |
Essence of ancients like P.A.Z.E |
Keep it ten steps ahead like the KGB |
Beasts watching me harder than Jay-Z streets |
Cage me not. |
The search found a crazy knot |
You mangy cops—that's coming from the stage we rock |
Stoned, earth and home all alone |
With the piece of the block grown to daddy unknown |
Had his son known pop, would he have left it alone? |
Never |
F with the chrome, build the treasures of dome |
Represent home. |
Later lay the rest of this poem |
To his long-lost kite unflown. |
How long this story goin' on? |
Hip hop like drug in my veins |
In real life, I’m still light and move at the speed of it |
A bad child on the mic—sometimes, I just need a hit |
The difference of right and wrong: open mic and writing a song |
Someone I love or a chick I like looking nice in thongs |
While you rush to work and rude people step on your feet |
I’m coming from the studio, thinking deep, listening to beats |
And give thanks that I wake after I rest in peace |
I live heavenly in hell, feeling well writing the heat |
Hip hop like drug in my veins |
They puttin' math improper on us, want us dead |
Plus, they couldn’t care less if every corner’s red |
Hunted like Cornish hens |
Even men making honest ends, born to sin |
Walk and take me out tournaments |
From hanging like ornaments to self-inflicted unfortunates |
Do it to yourself like «Who taught you this?» |
Bought you for a portion—now a portrait is a landless mask |
Me and my mans work the plans to command this cash |
Hip hop like drug in my veins |
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