Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Morocco Mike, artist - Murs. Album song F'Real, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 09.03.1997
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Murs 316
Song language: English
Morocco Mike |
Ay it’s like, me and this nigga Eclipse |
been workin on this shit hella hard for hella days |
Y’know, knahmsayin? |
Been since like |
'95, both graduated and shit |
Shit changed a grip for me this year |
'95 was some shit, check it out |
It was '95, the year of my graduation |
I was in, great anticipation of my date of release |
from this educational prison, moms made the decision |
to throw me from the residence |
It seems weed and hip-hop had taken precedence |
over my responsibilities, but it was alright |
Because that day to day bullshit was killin me So willingly I left the home |
And set out on my own, shacked up with some crew Saga and Rhythm |
Didn’t have to give 'em any rent |
So hella time was spent up late night, freestylin gettin high |
Not knowin how I would make it to school the next day |
From the Westside of L.A., I had to hit the 33 |
And now I hear them fools from Red Dots is out to murder me So certainly stresss built |
Takin bus to night school every day, coulda got my ass kilt |
But I had to get my credits straight |
Plus the bus ride gave me time to meditate |
on how to set this shit straight |
So late one night, I called up moms then we reached an agreement |
Which only delayed, it didn’t prevent what was bound to happen |
She said she wasn’t trippin just as long as I got a gown and cap |
Then came graduation day, the only nigga to walk the stage |
with a zero point five four five GPA |
I hand her the diploma, and she still have shit to say |
And it’s fuckin off my vibe, and the album’s on its way |
I couldn’t prolong the day when Murs |
and the real world would collide |
The year was nine-five |
The year was nine-five, I thought I wouldn’t survive |
Livin in the city where it’s a day to day struggle to survive |
The year was nine-five |
I struggled my way in the summer and now the album’s almost done |
But now is when the crew starts to fall apart |
One by one, we disassembled, which sorta resembles my life |
Fallin apart, right before my eyes |
So I fantasized about havin a video, and bein on tour |
to keep my mind off my empty stomach, and sleepin on the floor |
Bein that I’m broke, I’m stealin groceries from the store |
And now it seems every battle I have turns to beef |
And me, broke with no heat |
I’m lookin over both shoulders whenever I hit the streets |
And just when I thought I escaped defeat |
I’m sittin with my homey and we smokin a beadie |
When this cop see me, and he decides to procede |
A young black male with dreads, it gotta be weed |
So he comes over with the usual, disrespect |
But that’s all I’ve come to expect |
from a motherfucker with a badge and a God Complex |
Next he’s askin questions, testin my patience |
Finds out I’m underage, now he’s writin a citation |
Askin me to stand up to be frisked, I’m like «Man fuck this!» |
Then this bitch cop snatched me up from the back |
I turned around, to counter the attack |
But I’m surrounded by five cops who don’t appreciate the reply |
So it’s me they hogtie, and throw on the asphault |
Steady talkin shit, standin over me like it’s all my fault |
And now I got a court case to face |
And in the first place, I barely got enoughs to survive |
So when the court date arrived |
I damn sure don’t got enough for a fuckin bus ride |
So they give me a warrant, failure to appear |
The next week I’m at the pier with my crew |
I seen this fool I battled a couple days back |
Hadn’t seen him in a few, I stepped to him |
He’s like, «Dude we need a rematch, you see my ego’s been scratched» |
And when I tell him that shit ain’t gon’happen |
His ese partner went and opened up his trap |
and tell me that the odds was uneven instead of leavin |
I turned around and put this motherfucker in his place |
And at the same time, his homey all up in my nigga T.S. |
face |
So I’m think we 'bout to squab; |
but then the cops mob |
and break it up, now they feelin like, they did they job |
But here they come, back up the street hella deep |
Talkin shit like we wasn’t gon’trip |
So I took the first hit |
And now we squabbin in the middle of the streets |
The odds was 3-on-6, and we still held it down |
Except for the one so-called homey |
who stood there, held the radio and looked around |
And it seems like forever that we fought |
but it eventually, came to a halt |
So then we hit the park, to discuss what happened |
I wake up the next day, these fools is talkin 'bout cappin me? |
Takin my life, over a fight, nah that couldn’t be right |
Lost sight of where I’m livin, Los Angeles |
where fools ain’t givin a fuck, stuck in the same place |
with decisions to make |
Either I kill them, they kill me, or I make an escape |
So I took the money that my step-pops left me when he passed away |
And moved up to the Bay, only to find out |
niggaz gon’have problems, wherever you stay |
And it’s been a couple of years |
and some of these fools is still trippin to this day |
So I feel I can safely say |
that on this planet there ain’t no place like L.A. |
(There ain’t no place like L.A.) |
Mid-City fool, bitch! |
{"Heated, defeated, day after day |
Daily survival tactics in L.A."} |