| Hey, living these days ain’t no joke
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| Fiends they smoke and every young brother sells coke
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| And if not they affiliated with the game
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| It ain’t like the old days in '93 thangs changed
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| A young brotha might blast ya if he has to
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| And a punk won’t last a
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| Second in the place where I’m living at
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| Cause everybody and they momma’s pack gats
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| Some pack these Tech-9s and might live fine
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| But a tre-eight will always keeps thangs straight
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| Cause it ain’t nothing like suburbia
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| Cause in the hood a young soldier might murder ya
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| Its kind of sick when you’re watching your partner get killed
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| Straight pimped off the earth dying over turf
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| That the other man owns but us youngsters don’t know this
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| We killing one another just to show who the dopest
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| While us brothas is capping the ‘blue eyed devil' is laughing
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| And my cuddies is dying man I wonder what happened
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| To the peace and togetherness ‘black fists' raised in the air
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| But us youngsters don’t care
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| So I wonder partner ‘is unity a dream?'
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| So kick back to my ghetto theme
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| And it goes like this
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| Young players got to get it together
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| Young players got to get it together
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| Young players got to get it together
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| Young players got to get it together
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| (What's up? What’s up?)
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| Young players got to get it together
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| Young players got to get it together
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| Young players got to get it together
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| Young players got to get it together
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| Back in the days I never tripped but then I noticed
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| That people were my color were coming up the shortest
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| Life ain’t cool for a young soldier stuck on the streets
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| He got ‘mail' on his mind plus a ‘nine' and fools talk about peace
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| All he wants is his piece of the pie
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| Can’t get no ‘9-to-5' so on the streets he got to strive
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| And do what he got to do to get his money on
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| So don’t trip when you see him with the cellular phone
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| Cause that’s the way that he’s pimping the system
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| Strictly coming up with all the fools against him
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| Dealing with the mass confusion
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| Robbing and looting
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| And drive by shootings
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| But in the ghetto its an everyday thang thou
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| Without togetherness things ain’t gone change thou
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| I was told to keep my ‘eyes-on-the-prize' but I can’t
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| So I hind behind the dank and the drank
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| To camouflage all my pain
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| Ghetto got us insane
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| Since our vision is blurry we don’t know this maine
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| We need to come together on these inner city streets
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| Cause if we don’t we all going to be deceased
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| Peep the ghetto theme
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| In '93 it ain’t the government mind tricks
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| It’s young brotha’s with the gats and the clips
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| That’s quick to click and shoot
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| For practically nothing
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| Because these brotha’s these days mayn have no patience
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| School ain’t cool when you’re learning about the slave days
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| And all the presidents making all them slave trades
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| You should see you’re turning the future into the past
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| And throw some cash, a brother done blast
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| On another damn I thought we smarter than that
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| But it seems without the gats we ain’t even all that
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| Plus some fools with a sag in our pants
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| We need to put the nine’s down and let our minds advance
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| Young sister yeah she’s a pregnant-free teen
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| But she don’t know that once she was a queen and her man was a king
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| Now her man sells dope on the avenue
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| I know its cruel but this is what they push us to
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| Brotha’s now we have way too much hate
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| We might be from different states but we all from the same place
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| Times is hard but they ain’t hard as it seems
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| All I do is say ‘peace'
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| And kick my ghetto theme
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| Yeah… this Mac Mall
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| Expect yall Just letting yall know
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| Yall brotha’s in ‘the Bay'
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| Mayn we got to get it together
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| So what? |
| Eboni let them know…
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| Them know them know get our selves together
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| Haaaaaaa haaaaa |