| Kno’I’mean, the sound of the dope heatin' on that spoon
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| Hmmm, you feel that right, I know you feel that right
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| (Hook) State Store 2x
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| Holy Rollers
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| How I fell in hell in the cell wit the world on my shoulders
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| Holy Rollers
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| Tryna twist them L’s see the spell different cast on my soldiers
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| This for my broke brothers that’s leakin'
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| The have-nots and the heathens
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| Who work hard and hustle just to spend it all on the weekend
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| We — live without reason
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| Numb our brain with liquor and cheeba
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| Get tore down, hollerin' for God to help us
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| Everything we take is truth, a misguided message
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| The hood, better grimey, jealous, aggressive and desperate
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| And we exit in enormous numbers
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| Stressed out and restless
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| City infested, Avenues infected
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| And the struggle to success?
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| Only accumulate the herb and depression
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| Now how in the hell we supposed to get it together?
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| We go from no diplomas to obituaries
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| Seminaries and cemeteries, all we know is stress and worry
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| Nosy neighbors, hoodlums and haters
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| We reach for the sky
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| Steady wonder why ain’t no angels comin' out of heaven to help us out
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| We know the situation full of doubt, so look at us now
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| (Hook) State Store 2x
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| Yo, I’m like, what?
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| God ain’t got no love for the kid
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| Home from a bid, livin' on skid, clutchin' a rib
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| Little scruff, barely enough to puff production at crib
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| Small hands of a crack baby touchin' his bib
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| From a heartless dark place where the evil is hid
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| Slidin' board of addiction where my people done slid
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| Only thing in life that really seems equal is dead
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| Don’t need a shrink to take a peek and see through his head
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| Just study this hood culture where the future is lead
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| And understand how a young child could shoot you for bread
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| His whole like «Stop Snitchin'» «Fuck the blue and the red»
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| Runnin' the spot, gun cocked, give two to the dred
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| Only shook when the lookouts holla «The Feds!»
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| Then you dash, quickly stash or swallow the meds
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| Upstate, pacin', stressin', walkin' the edge
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| Second tier, come in here, get tossed from the ledge
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| I’m a crazy celly, like a war crazed Isreali
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| I try harder but it seem like these days will fail me
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| See I’m a psycho, in an asylum I might go
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| Or I’ll be at the door of the Lord with a rifle
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| Cuz I want more than James, Junior, and Michael
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| Or I’mma keep studyin' this criminal bible
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| Psalm one, Palm gun
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| Ain’t no fears in kings, so be prepared for the long run
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| (Hook) State Store 2x
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| (Outro) Kamachi
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| Yeah, c’mon, kno’m’sayin', ain’t' nuttin' changed, kno’m’sayin'
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| Still out here tryna take dirt and change it to a magic glitter, kno’m’sayin'
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| Yeah, Holy Rollers, c’mon, Philadelphia |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Holy Rollers, artist - Chief Kamachi. Album song The Concrete Gospel, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп