| This is for the quarter water, penny candy, poor ventilation
|
| Broken freezer, broke and freezing with a heater and a ring
|
| Came from the slime at the bottom of the land before time
|
| From the chalk dust falling out the pocket
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| The time James died on good times
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| The time lapse to the sunrise on the arctic
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| Shit from the vomit of the bowel with no solid
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| Human feces by the soil, sleeping bag on the street
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| By the row where they fight over french fries
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| And dope, where they choke for peso
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| Bitch this from that C-section
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| From the bloody afterbirth of the greed
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| Blood streaks on the back of a hearse
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| All green everything, gettin' that guap
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| All clean everything, swag on lock
|
| Everybody holler at the first thing, fuck it
|
| Real G shit means don’t say nothin'
|
| 'Bout that (Game!), 'bout that (Life!)
|
| 'Bout that (Yey!), 'bout that (Pipe!)
|
| 'Bout that (Money!), 'bout that (Shit!)
|
| Ain’t that just bout a bitch?
|
| 'Bout that (Trap!), 'bout that (Gun!)
|
| 'Bout that (Bitch!), better not (Run!)
|
| 'Bout that (Gold!), 'bout that (Ice!)
|
| 'Bout that (Hood!), 'bout that (Life!)
|
| For the teeth loose, for the hole gnawed by the root
|
| For the skeet shoot, taking on a chimp for the freaks
|
| For the stiff upper lip, uppers loving the lift
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| The other utterances, yeah I’m fucking your bitch
|
| The hard facade over the hard heart
|
| The chrome rim, look at him, whipping a work of art
|
| The fuck is Basquiat? |
| Park name, Rosa Barks
|
| The dogs let out to walk and the gods all talk gibberish
|
| Yup, littlest pup figure he bigger enough
|
| To scrap for the meat with a Rott'
|
| Eat in the streets 'till it rot
|
| Fecal for free and the steeple don’t mean nothing
|
| So everybody’s Sunday best when you see him coming
|
| All gray everything, reppin' them colors
|
| Pastor always talking about sisters and brothers
|
| Slanging on the church steps, fake suckers bluffing
|
| Real G shit means don’t say nothing
|
| 'Bout that (Game!), 'bout that (Life!)
|
| 'Bout that (Yey!), 'bout that (Pipe!)
|
| 'Bout that (Money!), 'bout that (Shit!)
|
| Ain’t that just bout a bitch?
|
| 'Bout that (Trap!), 'bout that (Gun!)
|
| 'Bout that (Bitch!), better not (Run!)
|
| 'Bout that (Gold!), 'bout that (Ice!)
|
| 'Bout that (Hood!), 'bout that (Life!)
|
| For the city that’s going wild
|
| And drowning without Poseidon
|
| And flying their flags for tyrants
|
| And vibing out on the violence
|
| With Vitamin Water sighing
|
| And crying bout the profiling
|
| Profanity on the mind
|
| Bout the vanity with all the blinds drawn
|
| Looking out for the shooters
|
| But fuck it, we are polluters
|
| Riots is for the looters
|
| The pious don’t know the truth
|
| Or the bias they pointing to
|
| And the fire that they pursuing
|
| Is higher than those with eyes
|
| That is redder than jeans are blue
|
| All purple everything, who got grapes
|
| Higher than a motherfucker about to go ape
|
| If you got a pistol, just keep on tucking
|
| Real G shit means don’t say nothing
|
| 'Bout that (Game!), 'bout that (Life!)
|
| 'Bout that (Yey!), 'bout that (Pipe!)
|
| 'Bout that (Money!), 'bout that (Shit!)
|
| Ain’t that just bout a bitch?
|
| 'Bout that (Trap!), 'bout that (Gun!)
|
| 'Bout that (Bitch!), better not (Run!)
|
| 'Bout that (Gold!), 'bout that (Ice!)
|
| 'Bout that (Hood!), 'bout that (Life!) |