Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Gotta Stay Strong, artist - Gravediggaz. Album song 6 Feet Under, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 10.04.2006
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: X-Ray
Song language: English
Gotta Stay Strong |
Yo, yo, check it |
Yo, for real, comin' atcha |
Yo, it’s like this, yo |
Never give up, never give up, never give up |
Keep holdin' on, gotta stay strong, keep your head up hung |
Yo, what you say to a brother when he straight up wrong? |
If you feel you all that, then lets get it on |
I got no time for the bullshit, I’m quick to snap |
But if worse come to worse, I whip out the gat |
Back down from no man, I’m a brother with heart |
But I’d rather build first, mad swift with darts |
Street brother, with knowledge of self at nineteen |
Same jam, master a hundred twenty degrees |
Been around for a minute, in a land of gold |
Brooklyn, East New York where I started to flow |
Coup Devilles, rag time bottles with bells |
Feel me, phat Caddy’s like Sam Cassell |
Mad brothers, my block was a flock of black sheeps |
Wasn’t a house nigga, so we house the streets |
Gettin' knocked by the cops, now and then we pop |
Few shots in the air, let 'em know we was here |
Time flew, but now I’m gettin better with age |
Flip a new page, time to unleash my rage |
Yo, look in my eyes, tell me what you see in the dark |
Want a move me out my seat like Rosa Parks |
Mentally enslaved brothers never change they ways |
Exploit the youth, now my vibes negative grips |
Buyin' in to the fake graph maternity stamps |
Cash it while I fuck it, yo i’ll see you tomorrow |
Black woman you a queen, but I doubt your strength |
Watchin' the two fuckin', run around, half nude |
Flashin' guns and clips, diamonds and phat rocks |
African brothers died on them chopin' blocks |
Don’t despair, now you wanna cover your ear |
Monkey see, monkey do, fuck wrong with you? |
In fifty states, you cats can’t carry the weight |
Wanna mention, what ya’ll need special attention |
Never degraded my race, come face to face |
Rappers more of a joke then a ray of hope |
I ain’t sittin' on my ass just to turn my cheek |
Hip-hop be the art and I’m the masterpiece |
You cats with fake images, watch your back |
Practice what you preach, cause that shit is wack |
But what you mean you ain’t down, you ain’t rollin' with us |
Cause you livin' mad large, and your crib is plush |
Must’ve forgot, you the same little crab from the wood |
Punk from the hood, frontin' like this shit all good |
Movin' up in the world, even switch the gas |
But you know to this day, I still whip that ass |
Ain’t nothin' change, nothin' but the time of the year |
Still trot through the hood like Paul Revere |
Vision my vise, my peeps is black and dilated |
Brothers quick to cross the streets, intimidated |
Ain’t my fault, cause I got that New York walk |
New York talk, blame it on society’s fault |
Brothers stay bebbed up, I’m prepared caliss |
Ready to give my life because I’m doin' a bit |
Bagged the eighth, figured it was worth the weight |
Crack a bottle over the head of your fake role models |
Bitin' the such of must, give up ways and plus |
I be damned if I let the song self distruct |