| Up early in the morning, dressed in black
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| Don’t ask why, 'cause I’m down in a suit and tie
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| They killed a homie that I went to school with
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| I tell ya life ain’t shit to fool with
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| I still hear the screams of his mother
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| While my nigga laid dead in the gutter
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| And it’s getting to my temple
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| Why is that the only time Black folks get to ride in a limo?
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| It makes me so mad I want to get my sawed-off
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| And have some bodies hauled off
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| But no, I pay my respects and I’m through
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| Hug my crew, and maybe shed a tear or two
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| And I wanna get blitz
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| Grab my 40 ounce and then I reminisce
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| About a brother who had to be the one and only
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| So I dedicate this to my dead homiez
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| Another homie got murdered on a shakedown
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| His mother is at the funeral, havin' a nervous breakdown
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| Two shots hit him in the face when they blasted
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| A framed picture, closed casket
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| A single file line about 50 cars long
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| All drivin' slow with their lights on
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| He got a lot of flowers and a big wreath
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| What good is that when you’re six feet deep?
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| I look at this shit and gotta think to myself
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| And thank God for my health
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| No one really ever know
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| When it’s gonna be they family on the front row
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| So I take everything slow, go with the flow
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| And shut my motherfuckin' mouth if I don’t know
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| 'Cause that’s what Pops told me
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| But I wish he could have said it… to my dead homiez
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| I remember we painted our names on the wall for fun
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| Now it’s «Rest in Peace» after every one
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| Except me, but I ain’t the one to front
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| Seems like I’m viewin' a body after every month
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| Plus, I knew him when he was yay big
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| Pour beer on the curb before I take a swig
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| But somethin' ain’t right
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| When it’s a tragedy, that’s the only time that the family’s tight
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| Lovin' each other in a caring mood
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| There’s lots of people and lots of food
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| They say «Be strong» and you’re tryin'
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| But how strong can you be when you see your pops cryin'?
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| So that’s why I’m so dressed up
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| Because the city is so fuckin' messed up
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| And everyone is so phony
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| Take a little time… to think about your dead homie |