
Date of issue: 31.12.1997
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Virgin Records America
Song language: English
Trial Of The Century |
Just like a motion picture, gunfire froze a nigga |
Compose the liquor, caused me to stager, stumble over quicker |
Duckin' low, with the .44, tryin' to bust and blow |
Empty out before the Po Po come bust the show |
Sobered up, knew it was beef, but over what? |
Been in the cut, escapin' these streets, they cold as fuck |
Tuck my chain in, rose to my feet, no time for aimin' |
Back arched, all you saw was sparks, niggas blazin' |
One fell, callin' for help, heard him yell |
My last shell, tore through his spine, it’s time to bail |
It’s slow motion, dust in my clothes started? |
boatin'? |
It’s bizarre copin', my blood flowin' like the Arctic Ocean |
Thoughts racin', hit the corner slow pacin' |
No destination, it’s up North a nigga facin' |
If we all gonna die, I’m prepared to meet my maker |
But before I touch that death bed feel, I gotta see some paper |
Keep my head to the sky, won’t let no one pull us down |
Do whatever it takes, cause that’s the breaks |
Money make this world go 'round |
I pleed innocent, the love for my freedom is infinite |
Thoughts was intimate, I mastered the minds, the mortal ten percent |
Self Defense, incarceration couldn’t help repent |
Caught in commotion at the time I felt it, felt intense |
Him or me, it’s misery through my memory |
But mentally, outcome wise I feel no sympathy |
You know the streets, how some niggas could go for weeks |
Rock you slow to sleep, play you for doe, now you know it’s beef |
Know it’s deep, I live my life on the creep |
Tinted Jeeps, bulletproof coupes move Mystique |
Let him speak, my dogg is innocent |
It was my Gats, this cat named Roberto it’s certain |
Desert Ease in my skirts end |
Let my nigga live, while I breed us up a kid |
Face this little bi — tch |
No explanation, speedy trial, fuck the extra waitin' |
Hesitatin', they know the time a nigga facin' |
So what’s the verdict |
I feel ill inside, though my life is still a ride |
Some may criticize, but it’s a blessin', that I’m still alive |
From all the smoke lit, all the hoes hit, all the cold shit |
From comin' that close gettin' my dome split |
Spreaded out, so much on my mind, gotta let it out |
To live, and die for a cause I feel dead with out |
Check my rap sheet, no prior cases, just some tax beef |
Charged with drunk drivin' once, but I was half 'sleep |
Swervin', off of St. Mark’s and Burgan, in a rented Suburban |
I must’ve dozed when I was turnin' |
But peep this, I’m on trial now, no sign of weakness |
No secrets, just goin' to court, & I’m tryin' to beat this |
A new Don, another score, another new born, been too long |
Here’s a dick jury for y’all to chew on |
Order in the court, order in the court, that’s contempt of court |
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