| I put my life time in between the paper’s lines
|
| My life, my my my life
|
| Twelve years old I caught my first case
|
| Never really get shit on my birthdays
|
| Fourteen before I even got my first date
|
| Stupid bitch wouldn’t let me get to first base
|
| Eleven years later it’s like I live a dream
|
| Fucking bad bitches straight outta magazines
|
| On Bill Street with the baddest bitch I ever seen
|
| And she’s falling in love is what she’s telling me
|
| But press rewind back to the grind
|
| Fifteen years old selling nicks for dimes
|
| Caught a robbery case, shipped off again
|
| This time did a couple juvenile pen
|
| Came right back, still going hard
|
| Fucked up, caught another robbery charge
|
| Me and Robin McJuggers was charge partners
|
| I did a couple more, came home in a dark Charger
|
| I put my life time in between the paper’s lines
|
| My life, my my my life
|
| Left out a part, so let’s add up
|
| At seventeen I was charged as an adult
|
| Made bond and I came home
|
| Only thing I really wanted was a microphone
|
| Mouth of the south, battles up and out of limits
|
| Seventeen too young to even try to win it
|
| Yeah, but somebody let me in in it
|
| When they did it I don’t think they thought that I could win it
|
| But I did it, made 'em all victims
|
| Start to finish every single sentence
|
| And then the judge made me finish my sentence
|
| One of the few rappers really live what I’m spitting
|
| Remember my 16's when they ain’t written
|
| No bullshitting, I’m the hottest in the city
|
| A lot of folks with me, I can’t stay out the box
|
| Record labels won’t sign me 'cause they know I’m on the block
|
| I put my life time in between the paper’s lines
|
| My life, my my my life
|
| I came home then I dropped my first mixtape
|
| I swore to God that was bout to be my big break
|
| Gambling on a Whiteboy was supposed to be a hit
|
| That mother fucker dropped and didn’t sell shit
|
| Stressed out, started working on volume 2
|
| Cause rap and crack was all I knew
|
| The Hate Goes On started really moving
|
| Selective Hits gave me distribution
|
| Dope City Records, the halfway house
|
| Here is foreign cash did that bitch sold out
|
| Snagged some pocket money to keep my head right
|
| This last fuckin' get killed at a red light
|
| Five months later Cren came home
|
| Eight months after that he fucking overdosed
|
| Dropped Mr. Controversy, didn’t even push it
|
| Cause by that time Bill was back to crack cooking
|
| I remember back to spring time in 08
|
| Getting money, caught another fucking dope case
|
| 09 me and Roller worked on volume 3
|
| Before it dropped had some labels fucking calling me
|
| Me and Big Baby still trapping on the side
|
| The day before the mixtape dropped Dre died
|
| I crashed out, sent to a halfway house
|
| Late December that year I came out
|
| 2010 Wyte signed me to a deal
|
| Second song we cut was Pop Another Pill
|
| That bitch blew up, we get it how we live
|
| Now Juicy J calls me like his
|
| I put my life time in between the paper’s lines
|
| My life, my my my life |