Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song They Dont Understand (Feat. Ray Luv) , by - Mac Dre. Release date: 31.12.2004
Song language: English
They Dont Understand (Feat. Ray Luv) |
| Once upon a time, before I had a 9 |
| I didn’t have to grind all the time |
| Thangs was cool and brothers hung out |
| The South with the North and the North with the South |
| As time went on I started cravin for mail |
| Then came the yayo and then I started to sell |
| Money, money, money was all I knew |
| Cause 24−7 the fiends came through |
| Luxurious livin in the fast lane |
| But little did I know it wouldn’t last, mayne |
| From sellin the base cocaine I caught me a case |
| And then they put me away in a correctional place |
| They said I was beyond parental control |
| A hard-headed fool with no mental control |
| But for months and months I wrote and wrote |
| And when I got out of jail, I was funky and dope |
| Yeah I was straight spittin it to them fools up there, man |
| They didn’t understand this mouthpiece I had, you know |
| I knew I was comin up |
| Yo, that’s what I try to tell 'em, man |
| They don’t realize it’s a straight come up in the nineties |
| Aiyo, but what happened when you got back to the hood, though? |
| Back in the hood thangs was so different |
| The rollers was jackin and the brothers was trippin |
| Uzis and 9's was kept in the trunk |
| Cause the North and the South had high-powered funk |
| Thinkin to myself: Dre, leave it alone |
| Khayree hooked me up with a microphone |
| Deeper and deeper the funk kept on getting |
| But I wasn’t trippin, I had to keep spittin |
| Now I’m cold chillin on the t-o-p |
| And still ain’t trippin off the funk, baby |
| And if you don’t get the point of the story I tell |
| Quit trippin off the funk and make some mail |
| I grew up on the westside of Ro' |
| Slangin and gangbangin, hangin and smokin do' |
| 'Stay in the house, don’t even think about goin out!' |
| My room was a jail cell, so young Ray sneaks out |
| I run with the rat pack, stack that, jack that |
| Need some for gold ones, then go mack that |
| Tender for dollars and don’t take no less |
| Than a c-note and stack that with the rest |
| Thinkin and knowin it’s all about the game |
| Dropped out of school for big fortune and much fame |
| Runnin around with a rag in your knapsack |
| Necks is cracked, Jack, now you pack, black |
| Why? |
| To smoke another brother-man |
| Mac Dre, I don’t see why don’t understand |
| Never was much of an athlete |
| Always craved stages and pages of rhyme sheets and rap beats |
| Working inside my room through the late night |
| Damn near goin blind writin rhymes by a dim light |
| Changin up my styles, learnin to flow fast and slow |
| Kickin the funky tempo, bass breakin the bedroom window |
| But now at age 19 I’m made with a crazy fade |
| Pockets feelin fat because a brother’s crazy paid |
| Back to where I used to kick it at |
| But since it got crazy everyone comes with a gat |
| Got myself a ounce and a bottle of boons |
| I checked my watch cause I knew I had help soon |
| Now I’m just sittin here thinkin 'bout days past |
| When the police stayed in a brother’s ass |
| While some brothers every week were gettin bailed out |
| I stayed my little black behind out of the jail house |