| This is the unfinished stories of the streets, baby
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| Don’t get it twisted cause the globe already does that
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| Live and learn, watch the Earth get a turn, 360
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| Boomerang, violent kid’ll burn
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| Where I live at is so cold
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| And models that grow old
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| Cause niggas die young and go broke! |
| Haha
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| Is it the way we is?
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| Is it the way we live?
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| How do we portray them kids? |
| Negative!
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| This is the code of the streets that ain’t wrote yet
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| Niggas starving, it’s getting nippy
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| Red face taking cold steps
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| This trigger finger is itchy
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| The other hand is sticky
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| Robbed this nigga at gunpoint
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| The cops bust quickly
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| Before you know, dead
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| Bloodshed in the snow
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| 5−0 shot him, one nice cop, the other rotten
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| Same cops the same night
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| Stopped a guy for no reason
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| Put his face against the windshield
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| He fucked it up while he was breathing
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| The rotten porkchop kicked his teeth in
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| Did it in the alleyway so nobody would see him
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| He recovered from bleeding
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| So the next evening when he got stopped
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| He said «F That!» |
| and started squeezing
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| Bulletholes through the cops' car
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| After firing, he heard sirens
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| Dropped the gun, wishing he got far
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| Got his grandmother thinking
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| What did she do wrong
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| Got his brother putting like the same exact suit on
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| He wore to his boy’s funeral
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| Over cocaine, fast life, fast cars
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| Money and gold chains
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| He sits through the sermon
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| While the preacher preaches
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| The same preacher that knows the bible
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| But don’t know Jesus
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| He takes your hard cash and hard lass
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| In a Lexus Coupe
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| Pipped out with a chick
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| Busting his life out
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| Took a long stroke
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| The condom broke
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| And he didn’t know it
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| Dick on the clitoris
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| Constantly spitting on it
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| Where the period at?
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| The stomach getting bigger
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| She needs money for the child
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| «Give it up nigga!»
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| The dough that she takes she spend it up on drinks
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| Puffing cigarettes while she’s still pregnant
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| She didn’t know until she had the baby how bad she was affecting it
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| Now he barely breathing, he could’ve been the next president
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| For the karma
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| Walking in the streets of the arma-
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| Geddon, young cats spitting fire armour
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| Never see sweet 16
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| Parents grow sour
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| Casket in the dirt, you throw flowers
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| Cats taking cold showers, for eyewitnessing
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| Murders, snatching purses from senior citizens
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| We living in the last days, the innocent
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| Bystanders in their pathways
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| 24 hours turn into half-days
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| The gat stays in the thug’s waist
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| Another hard decision that the judge makes
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| Murder was the case
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| The streets will get you beat
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| Like Tina Turner’s face
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| Before she fought back
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| Stray bullets floating off track
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| Killing young kids, jump roping on their property
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| Where they once lived
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| Plus niggas ain’t living properly
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| And we gotta be
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| These days
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| So we hustle like old folks in cabarets
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| Looking towards the bright side
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| Through a cave before we caved in
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| But the future looks dark, within a grave
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| Like a waistband, my arms and legs stretch when I awake
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| I thank God for it
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| Life, it takes God for it
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| Many led by this redhead guy
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| With a pitchfork and two horns
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| Lounging in a place that’s too warm
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| For my nig-get-out-of-view point
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| I try not to do wrong
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| But I want to be in that limo askin' for the Grey Poupon, for a change
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| I’m sick of saving change from a coupon
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| I’m a rhymecaster that’ll do
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| The same stuff that Ice Cube’s on
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| With a suit on, and got bread
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| Thaw out your cold heart with hot lead
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| It’s like a coin toss
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| Who got heads, who got tails?
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| Which one you thinking with?
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| It seems to me that cats would rather rest in peace instead of keeping it |