| As time keep passin' us by in my community
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| Wathcin' the children die
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| Bitch made police, and the brutality
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| Prozac and Ritalin, that ain’t what we need
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| And wonder why our children keep smokin' weed
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| (Bizzy)
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| Take a look into the gun, look at what we’ve become
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| Daddy don’t love me, only come around the first of the month
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| Me and mommy still in the slump
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| Why don’t he love us?
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| I can’t even blame him
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| Cause ever since I came
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| We been stuck in the same ghetto
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| Now i’m carryin' heavy metal when times is tough
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| I don’t know about ya neighborhood, but baby, mines is rough
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| Abandand buildings police searchin' all the children
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| Ain’t no peace in the streets, at least not where i’m livin'
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| Kneeling to God cause Satan never gave us a chance
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| Evil never had no rythm, man, the Devils can’t dance
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| Got three pairs of pants
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| But I keep em all creased
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| Whether chicken or ham, we gon' use the same grease
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| Each second is a struggle, beg, borrow or hustle
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| Yeah, scufflin' money just try to stay out of trouble
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| Hell, rebel of rap music, put it on my mama!
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| And if it’s gonna be gunplay, rocket launchers, grenades, and AKs!
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| (Chorus — repeat 2X)
|
| As time keep passin' us by in my community
|
| Wathcin' the children die
|
| Bitchmade police, and the brutality
|
| Prozac and Ritalin, that ain’t what we need
|
| And wonder why our children keep smokin' weed
|
| (Bizzy)
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| Why is the broad on my back like that?
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| Don’t ask me, i’m for passion, i’m smashin' on niggas, come blast me!
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| All my people tellin' me I should sing more
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| Yes!
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| Roll up a dub, smoke bud in the club
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| Free Flesh!
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| Creepin' on a come up, i’m from Cleveland, and Columbus, Ohio
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| Don’t hate myself for science, and the ??
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| Yet all these niggas gangbang
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| Somebody should tell em the truth
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| I’ll sell em somethin' that’ll get they heart to pumpin'
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| And help the youth!
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| Hangin' in the graveyard, everybody’s playin' hard
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| Satan’s on a mission to get us
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| I hope that nobody with us, and given us slave ways
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| Ruthless got us on fifty dollars a day
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| One hundred and ninety thousand I guess platinum don’t pay
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| Can I please get some mo' money?
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| Somebody could buy my way cause shit the rent’s due
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| Glad I got ghetto credit
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| Don’t let the industry pimp you, pimp you, pimp you
|
| (Chorus — repeat 2X)
|
| As time keep passin' us by in my community
|
| Wathcin' the children die
|
| Bitch made police, and the brutality
|
| Prozac and Ritalin, that ain’t what we need
|
| And wonder why our children keep smokin' weed
|
| (Bizzy)
|
| Babies born with AIDS
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| And we pray for them boys they hoarding the vaccine
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| Black helicopter rain on em, I’m gainin' on em
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| Maintain the main thang on em, shame on em
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| But another victim died of vain for em, slain
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| Two hundred and fifty crashed in the plane
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| And the only thing that survived was the black box
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| They frame the black cops
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| Slang crack rock
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| Wannabe Hot Boyz, so he gon' make the block hot, block hot
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| They wanna see me sasquash
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| Pull out my Glock, cocked, and pop pop!
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| Go to jail don’t nobody send you mail
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| Hell, i’m ridin' til these wheels fall off
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| Or they can take it to the chop shop
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| Shut up, i’m shinnin' on you bustas!
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| What?!
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| Ready to hustle get your struggle on, no!
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| When you wanna double up, you keep fuckin' up!
|
| Your mind’s gone, time’s gone, everybody’s runnin' amuck
|
| They say that lesbians is sick
|
| But they just do wanna fuck
|
| As time keep passin' us by in my community
|
| Wathcin' the children die
|
| Bitch made police, and the brutality
|
| Prozac and Ritalin, that ain’t what we need
|
| And wonder why our children keep smokin' weed |