Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Kill My Dog , by - Cam'Ron. Release date: 28.04.2008
Song language: English
Kill My Dog |
| See they kilt him on a Sunday |
| We was supposed to do a song that Monday |
| Had dreams of getting on, one day, somehow, someway |
| We would jump at the chance, like a good pump fake |
| Said we wouldn’t change and stay hungry |
| But if I keep it funky |
| Even Pac had to do the Humpty |
| Sometimes bummy with a stack on him |
| Sometimes fresh with cracks on him, figure him out |
| He never shouted when he rhymed (nah) |
| Respected words, could move mountains with his mind (word up) |
| His best was first |
| We in the hood, and I’m stressing (I'm buggin) |
| He said they kill Martin Luther King, but not his message |
| The jewels he dropped |
| He never bragged about the tools he copped (never) |
| But he had 'em |
| One rule, shit, if they try to rob me, get at 'em |
| And that’s the way he fell up in Harlem |
| He stuck to his words, they had to kill him just so they could rob him |
| Asking why? |
| The nigga had to die? |
| It don’t make sense |
| (Shit is crazy, man. The nigga just ain’t give up the fucking jewelry, man. |
| Damn.) |
| Z died in '97 |
| March 2nd, before 9/11 (World Trade ???) |
| He won’t see my Porsche 911 or the crystal in my place |
| He dead, they said, get him a page on MySpace (get out my face with that) |
| I turned my back and think |
| I embedded the wreath??? |
| (me) |
| The casket drop, huh, I was dead on my feet (like a pallbearer) |
| Yeah he resting in peace (what?) |
| But because of him (what?) |
| It’s plaques on my wall, ya’ll, instead of my teeth. |
| (thank God) |
| Madison Ave, got the leathers from North Beach (the hobo joint) |
| Beamer in Philly, got broads from Broad Street |
| He had the Honda Accord, made it more sweet (what up skeet) |
| We balled every summer like West 4th Street (not the tournament) |
| Now your face on the wall, next to liquor you figure |
| They could read what you wrote |
| Scripture is next to your picture (got your lyrics next to it) |
| Might shed a tear but real men are here (believe that) |
| It’s hard to believe, my nigga, it’s been 10 years, yeah |
| His kids won’t know him |
| Who they father was? |
| I’m a show 'em |
| The world rotating in slow motion |
| Lights are dim |
| Hands crossed in his casket, no life within |
| Some people they are phony |
| I might be wrong, but it’s easier to struggle with your homie |
| I write this song with a swift pen |
| And just then, the shit kicked in |
| Like, I’ll never see my nigga again (never) |
| I can’t meet him outside (nah) |
| Dead, we can’t play live |
| Bum joystick, he can’t take mine |
| Called him a rebel with a cause (cause) |
| Shit was strange, but there’s things you can gain in loss |
| That was my dog (dog) |
| To the deathbed, I’m missing you bro (I miss you bro) |
| Ya, still chasing dreams, still sick with the flow |
| I gotta breeze, but I’m a see you in a minute (one minute) |
| I’m just hoping, that heaven got a studio in it |