| 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."} |