| It all started summer '06
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| Jordan High School, Long Beach, California
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| Young bad ass nigga
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| Just tryin' to earn stripes and make a name
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| Shit, what you 'bout to get into, bro?
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| Man, I don’t think I’m goin'
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| (Shit, me either, man)
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| All right man, ay, hit me later though
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| (Yeah, hey you still smoking weed?)
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| Oh yeah, for sure,
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| Mr. Jones!
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| Yeah
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| My office, right now
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| Man, fuck
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| Where have you been first and second period?
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| I’ve been in class
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| Never mind, I know where you been
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| I’ve seen you pull up to school with them guys
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| I know them, they’re nothing but trouble!
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| You know what we’re gonna do? |
| Call your mom
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| You’re suspended for two days for excessive truancy
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| I’ma suffer in the afterlife
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| Short-tempered nigga, never got my manners right
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| I remember them nights we slept by the candle light
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| Stomach growling, smelling my neighbors cookin' Spanish rice
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| Couldn’t pay the bills but we purchased steel
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| pistols make a nigga piss in his pants for real
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| Coke utensils, detrimental to get our pockets filled
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| All my niggas run the field like a soccer drill
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| This that wake music, shoot him in the face music
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| Ain’t no love in these streets, you slip and we spray cupid
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| Ridin' on enemies and niggas who play foolish
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| Gunpowder thick, my block got a taste to it, ridin', cruisin'
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| Wear the heater in my polo sweater
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| Hit 'em up with Berettas, squeeze and don’t let up
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| My niggas never heard of peace ‘cause Meta never met us
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| Leave him holy like priests escorted on a stretcher
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| Push the block like London Fletcher
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| Down for whatever since a nigga came out the womb
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| Boxes and tools, present a pine box to you
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| Don’t need a jump shot to shoot
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| Pull up in the whip and I’ll pop your crew
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| I want the money, if he got it, I’m into his home
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| Clutch the chrome, treating beef like Sylvester Stallone
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| Spray his ass like his favorite cologne
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| with that chopper, bitch, I think I’m Chipper Jones
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| Hello?
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| Ayo, what’s good, nigga?
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| Shit, I got fuckin' suspended from school and shit for two days
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| Mom’s tripping and shit, she tryna put me out and shit
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| But I got like 1.50 if you tryna piece up on a quarter piece and shit
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| I’ma be on the block, you get at me
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| All right |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Chipper Jones II , by - Joey Fatts. Song from the album Chipper Jones Vol. 2, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп