Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Saga, artist - Cormega. Album song The Realness, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 23.07.2001
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Aura
Song language: English
The Saga |
| Yo, life’s general for us, you know? |
| how we livin' out here, you know |
| Things we go through man, why we gotta go through this life? |
| (Mega) Life is an interlude to death son, you ever thought about that? |
| The saga begins |
| I’m a reflection of the drama within |
| The ghetto I live in, niggas Moms on crack, Pops just disappeared |
| The first time you get locked up who really cares? |
| I see a little snotty nosed with his sneakers on backwards |
| Sleepin' on a mattress when I go to make a sale |
| At times I wonder, are we goin' straight to Hell? |
| Or does God realize we’re tryin' to make it as well |
| My sleep is interrupted by food on the stove |
| Not gun shots, we’re immune to those |
| Some of my friends first bids are two to fours |
| Others are on the run with huge rewards |
| Mothers watch Son’s walk through the door |
| For the last time 'till they go view at the morgue |
| Life is deep, we all just tryin' to eat |
| Rap’s a mental narcotic, I supply the streets |
| Look at my life, you see white coke and black roses |
| And tears shed for passed soldiers |
| We all walkin' the path chosen |
| From the cradle 'till the casket’s lowered |
| I still got the black ski mask to throw on |
| But I can get richer off the tracks I flow on |
| I’d be lyin' if I said I wasn’t hustlin' no more |
| Look at my life. |
| Life ain’t fair, shorty pregnant with nowhere to live |
| Sleepin' in a crackhouse 'cause she don’t got no relatives |
| Her friends want to drink brew and beef about who’s sale it is |
| Now she’s gettin' hungry, she smells the marijuana scent |
| I paint a picture vividly |
| As if Picasso’s spirit entered me |
| Starin' at the Heavens, secluded in a tinted jeep |
| I’m sick of hearin' eulogies |
| I realize my nigga Blue is — a reminder of my past like Greek ruins |
| Yet his seek keeps bloomin' |
| Uneffected by police intrusions |
| Or street illusions we were consumed wit' |
| I’ve even grown away from people I grew wit' |
| I mean we cool, but I don’t need to bullshit |
| My mood could switch easily from smooth to ruthless |
| We ain’t built the same so mind games are useless |
| Times change, like the climate I change |
| Check the forecast, I reign |
| Live niggas I rep for, deceased, I pour Moet for |
| Those incarcerated, my heart is wit' y’all |
| I know at times it gets hard behind penetentiary bars |
| Then once free you realize you’re mentally scarred |
| If not physically, if subjected to correctional facilities |
| Prepare for your future to the best of your ability prosper, otherwise |
| You’ve been conquered |
| Blowin' up her mobile phone so she can send you a box |
| Son, I sit inside my residence |
| And thank God I’m blessed with this poetical gift evident in every |
| Ghetto like graffiti and crack sales |
| And cabs that won’t stop for Black Males |
| Undercovers givin' younger Brothers bad stares |
| Fours clap, Dogs crap in the grass here |
| You love to hear the story Son, the saga began here |
| MC are fictitious yet there’s actual facts here |
| Like the Bible said, Jesus had napped hair |