Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Goines Tale, artist - CRU. Date of issue: 31.12.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Goines Tale |
| Yo, |
| this joint right here |
| is dedicated |
| to the infamous, late great |
| Donald Goines |
| word life, C-R-U, Cru representaion |
| Black Girl Lost her pop is Daddy Cool |
| Former Dopefiend now a pimp, damn fool |
| He’s a Black Gangster, Inner City Hoodlum |
| Phat prankster, must admit a pretty good one |
| But little do he know he on a Death List and shit |
| This’ll be Kenyatta’s Escape, Kenyatta’s Last Hit |
| Crime Partners he and Ken’was |
| Till one day they spark that traum up and got a buzz |
| Said he heard Kenyatta had phoned his wife |
| So, he shot him over this rumor, tried to take his life |
| Promised Kenyatta would Never Die Alone |
| So he went home, and shot his wife while she was on the phone |
| Shot her in the head and then she lay dead |
| Pimp jeted in his Eldorado Red |
| Kenyatta didn’t die he would Cry Revenge |
| Wouldn’t stop till he saw the pimp’s dead end |
| Pimp went to whore house to see his Street Players |
| Collect all the doe cause yo that’s what the game is Pimps called Swamp Man cause he’s like a Munster |
| Violent in the street ever since he was a youngster |
| See you was a Whoreson, son of a whore |
| And from this the violent mental scars we wore |
| Forgot about Kenyatta thought Kenyatta was ghost |
| While doin what he gotta tryin to make the most |
| And for those two shootins, he never got caught |
| Smart man ended up in the new house he bought |
| Ken’found out with the quickness where he lived |
| Written the address then went up the crib |
| Ooze and vest he ain’t fest |
| Sprayed his rest, shit is best to put that pimp to the test |
| Six months later Ken’was back |
| Instead of an ooze this time he had a mack in his backpack |
| Yawnin, in the wee hours of the mornin |
| Pimps’known to leave his whorehouse at dawnin |
| There he is, suddenly appears |
| Nuthin in his hand except a six-pack of Heiniken beers |
| Steps out the bushes, the trigger he pushes |
| Hits up Swamp Man and mad blood gu-shes |
| Fills him with lead, puts the last in his head |
| Then slides, Swamp Man lay dead |
| Runs up a few blocks there go the cops |
| They must have heard the RAT-A-TAT-pops of the shots |
| His mind’s racin wonderin what he should |
| Give up or say, Fuck It!, and spray the cops too |
| Stops in his tracks and bends down to kneel |
| She been shot before yo he know how it feels |
| He drops his gun, and with it the beef |
| Now a White Mans Justice Black Mans Grief |