Lyrics Pages of My Life - Kool G Rap

Pages of My Life

Just because the boy do or die livin'
Like he was born in Bed Stuy, 45 liftin'
Niggas, get this guy twisted
He slide clips in
This one for my Queens niggas that died pitchin'
I was subjected to hood shit in ma’s kitchen
Pop’s cock would pump in her while she fried chicken
I’m three years old standing there wit' my eyes drippin'
Swinging little fists on him, but only die hittin'
And that small rage I had only made him laugh
Years later moms would tell me that’s what saved her ass
Memory lane pain deep as a razor slash
Had a baby sister that die young her name was Robyn
She went to sleep when the grim reaper was cradle rockin'
Over my right shoulder here I got a angel watchin'
I poured my heart on the paper with the table wobblin'
Moms thank you for the time you was in labor droppin'
It probably never occurred that you would raise a Hopkins
Far from the mood for games that’s the state I’m not in
Suffered long enough, it’s time for something major poppin'
Yeah I’m a make sure they get me right (right, dog)
Flip through the pages of my life
See the scars were some chose to stick the knife
On some real shit, these are the pages of my life
Born fighter I’m sticking to the script, precise
Can’t play fair here, you got to fix the dice
Lost everything I love tryin' a grip it tight
Decided to write the real pages of my life
Middle chapter, age eleven was a little bastard
Unlike kids my age, wanted to fizzle faster
With the older gang, to join a house robbery
And wasn’t scared a the Doberman in they property (nah, dog)
Til' this day that’s why the real niggas rock wit' me
E-Z Wider paper is were I drop the weed
OE 800, who want it?
99th and 106 we’re straight gunners (Wassup, yo)
Nat a little nigga but his heart was humongous
My older man frogged in the schoolyard in summer
Later he blew the face off Jake, he doin' numbers
Most of y’all know how the Queens do to coppers
Rastas hit up Taisheen wit' a chopper
At sixteen was on the scene to prosper
That’s when a nigga moved back from Iraq then
Back to Corona (no doubt)
Back to home base (word up)
From a place that made me a little grown-er
But would never forget the PJs
It’s twelve days
Fat Steve Kellay (ay!)
Shorty rock LA (What up?)
Mauri Croc’s, Pelle
When I ring the top bell, ay!
Brrap my back in the day shorty in 12A
The best rapper from the hood that’s were the belt stays
Yeah I’m a make sure they get me right (right, dog)
Flip through the pages of my life
See the scars were some chose to stick the knife
On some real shit, these are the pages of my life
Born fighter I’m sticking to the script, precise
Can’t play fair here, you got to fix the dice