| Yeah, it ain’t where you from, it’s where you at
|
| I know a lotta niggas that’ll tear your back
|
| It ain’t where you from, kid, it’s where you at
|
| Listen, if you goin out of town and don’t bear them gats
|
| It ain’t where you from, kid, it’s where you at
|
| If you caught up in a beef and you scared to clap
|
| Dogs, it ain’t where you from, it’s where you at
|
| Shit, thug listen (What up baby?)
|
| Ain’t nothin 'round here but drug addiction
|
| Niggas is anti-love-livin
|
| The slug-givin little shortie on the snub itchin
|
| For beef, he might get left in the street with his blood drippin
|
| The poor niggas sling crack, real raw niggas that bang gats
|
| Crazy lady jumped on the train tracks
|
| Know if you owe somebody dough you better bring that
|
| Them kids is live, put five where your brain at
|
| You walk the streets of the slums
|
| Know to spot beef when it come
|
| Reach for the guns or feel the heat from the ones
|
| Never know who your killer be (Yeah, speak to no one)
|
| Just put a Desert Eagle beak in his lung
|
| Leak em and run, some guys light the blunts up
|
| (And then what?) And then go ride with the pumps up
|
| Chopped up bitch inside of a dumpster
|
| Paramedics tryin to speed a nigga pulse up
|
| (Yo, he’s a cold blue) victim of the vultures
|
| Block sizzlin hot, flooded in the middle with cops
|
| Innocent nigga topped, riddled with shots
|
| Kids up in rock spots clock knots, fiddle with Glocks
|
| Ready to die for what little they got
|
| Tricks, hoes and thugs (That's right)
|
| The ones that put holes in mugs
|
| Waitin outside for them ones that pose in clubs
|
| To that strange nigga knockin on your do' with gloves
|
| Let the .44 blow for grub, it’s no love
|
| You got uniformed cops, the D’s when it’s hot
|
| TNT knockin down the door of your spot
|
| The feds come get you once you think you on top
|
| They just been buildin they case, they got you on tape
|
| The CIA clip you if the shit is that deep
|
| Your money’s that long, you ain’t that strong
|
| Informants’ll bury you under the jail
|
| They got wires and statements for juries to hear
|
| Then they got rivals that got it clickin just like you
|
| That’s your competition, them niggas tryin to eat too
|
| They’ll set you up for dead if you don’t show strength
|
| Extort all your workers cause you ain’t built for this
|
| Plus stick-up kids and jealous-ass niggas
|
| You gotta watch your front, sides and your back (Damn)
|
| You gotta keep your eyes on your bitch and your mens
|
| You gotta keep your mind sharp livin so fed |