Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Family 1st, artist - Masta Ace. Date of issue: 29.06.2008
Song language: English
Family 1st |
| All my people 'round the way |
| If I see you on the block, on the corner, in the park, in the summer, I’ma say |
| «Don't go» |
| And let you know that this goes out to y’all |
| All my people in the hood |
| If I see you in the mix on the ave, all the fellas and the chicks I’ma yell |
| «Don't go» |
| And let you know that this goes out to y’all |
| Where I’m from it’s money over bitches |
| Don’t be cool with snitches |
| Cause like the tax man they try to get you for your riches |
| Never burn bridges or exchange digits |
| Keep it real cool but yet still keep your distance |
| Don’t fuck with outsiders (Why?) |
| My stay in they mouth cause like a child on punishment, I keep it in house |
| My style, I never run out |
| Get murdered and ridiculed |
| Your fam’s mourning you in all black like Hasidic Jews |
| Attitudes arrogant |
| You’re scared to speak and |
| Your palms shaking just like a former greeting |
| I’m like time creeping |
| Y’all see me and run |
| Y’all need some heart like John Q’s little son |
| I’m number one |
| Y’all back down once my squad came |
| Y’all cats fold like bad hands in a card game |
| We not the same |
| I’m deading your work |
| And y’all niggas can’t eat cause my family’s first |
| They had us using bad words in pre-K |
| Seen a lot of things done the wrong way on the ave in BK |
| A young nigga turnt out before the teen years |
| Virgin lung, bust cherry off skunk and green beer |
| After that I seen clear |
| I wrote a song about it |
| In my blood, now my lifeline I can’t live without it |
| The people look to me like I’m hope in the flesh |
| What they don’t know is what I think about myself is less |
| This is chess not checkers |
| I’m over block politics and running out to fiends, yo I choose to sell records |
| And y’all the type of dudes to rush and drop garbage |
| Me and my associates stay eating regardless |
| Winning in the pros while you losing in the novice |
| The Rookie Of The Year called Apocalypse |
| Far from sweet, I spread cuts through your crew all day |
| Shed blood and no love, that’s the Brooklyn way |
| Yo, if you got a couple of grand, I got a hot sixteen |
| I got a shawty at the crib and she not 16 |
| Understand that I’m over you dudes like umbrellas |
| Ain’t nothing you dumb fellas can come tell us |
| We sit at home lounging, collect checks in the mail |
| While we up in the spot, y’all waiting to exhale |
| But keep breathing, cause you still in the preseason |
| I’m knee deep in the game nigga, you keep sleeping |
| And I’ma be wakin' ya up like No Doz |
| You assed out like no clothes when I throw bows |
| And come at my immediate area, I’ll bury ya |
| So don’t make me take it there like a carrier |
| I know y’all wanna be street, don’t let it worry ya |
| First leave them gators alone like Steve Spurrier |
| And take your mind back to the days with no doe |
| Hit the block, keep it thorough |
| Find your people on the ave and yell it out |