| I was told, cause I didn’t witness the whole act
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| In and out was the movement of the bozack
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| It was hot and sweaty and lots of pushin
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| Then the nut came gushin
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| And it was hell tryin to bail to the ovary
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| With nuttin but the Lord lookin over me I was white with a tail
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| But when I reached the finish line, young black male!
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| One cell made two, and two cells made fo'
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| and so on, so now I’m a embryo
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| Then I got a hunch
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| that I’ma be on lockdown, for nine months
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| Chillin, with my mother to guide me And nuttin but a stomach to hide me from all that worry and bullshit
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| Nine months later, I elbow pull and kick
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| cause my time is up and I don’t care
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| With one big push, I’m outta there
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| June 15th, it’s just my luck
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| In 1969, a nigga is the product
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| Ghetto ass nigga, you ain’t shit,
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| and you ain’t gon’never be shit!
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| I learned how to walk and talk and all that
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| They put me in school, but it don’t matter
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| Cause I’m sittin in history
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| Learnin bout a sucker, who didn’t give a fuck about me They try to shape us But I know Uncle Sam is a motherfuckin rapist
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| So I stopped payin attention
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| Ice Cube, headed, straight to detention
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| Fuck that shit, I roam the hallways
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| I’m sent home and I don’t got all A’s
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| A high school dropout
|
| My father had beef so I tried to knock pops out
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| But I got tossed, he’s the boss
|
| I’m out of there and mad cause I lost
|
| Now bein on my own is a factor
|
| So I become, the neighborhood jacker
|
| Gimme your car, run your jewels
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| Makin a livin robbin fools
|
| And if I let my nine rang out
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| You know, it’ll make your brains hang out
|
| So what’s your fate?
|
| Am I the nigga you love, or the one you love to hate?
|
| The wrong answer is said, the nigga fled
|
| I pump lead, now he’s in a puddle of red
|
| And if you got a buck, you’re shit out of luck
|
| Stuck up by the motherfuckin product
|
| Uh-uh motherfucker you gots to get a job
|
| if you wanna stay in my motherfuckin house
|
| Many young men reject the traditional values
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| that are important to their parents.
|
| Church, school and family
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| have been replaced by street, turf, and gang.
|
| Twenty-one now, and paid in full
|
| Feelin bad, from all the shit I pulled
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| on people back in the day
|
| Plus, I got a little baby on the way
|
| So I’m tryin to go straight
|
| I’m with my baby’s momma, out on a date
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| Til the punk ass cops ran my plate
|
| Now I’m on a bus upstate
|
| Oh, the young nigga done caught a case!
|
| Sittin in the mess hall, sayin my grace →LL Cool J Sent to a concrete hoe-house
|
| Where all the products go, no doubt
|
| Yo momma, I gotta do eleven
|
| Livin in a five by seven
|
| Dear baby, your man’s gettin worn out
|
| of seein young boys gettin they assholes torn out
|
| And then he got shanked with a spoon
|
| And he was 'sposed to get out soon
|
| Is it my fault, he was caught in production
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| Where a young black life means nothin
|
| Just because, I didn’t want to learn your grammar
|
| you say I’m better off in the slammer
|
| And it’s drivin me batty
|
| Cause my little boy, is missin daddy
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| I’m ashamed, but the fact is I wish pops let me off on the mattress
|
| Or should I just hang from the top bunk
|
| But that’s goin out like a punk
|
| My life is FUCKED!
|
| But it ain’t my fault, cause I’m the motherfuckin product
|
| He ain’t shit |