Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Story to Tell, artist - O.C.. Album song Starchild, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 14.02.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Grit
Song language: English
Story to Tell |
Yo, born May 13th 'round seventy-one |
Vietnam was a memory before my birth |
Around the time Nicky Barnes era came to a close |
Too young to know yet, poppa told me later on |
The place was Brook-nam, BK, NY City |
Lovechild through a bond was me, so evidently |
The sperm the egg joined in between my mama loins |
Coulda been heads or tails like, flippin a coin |
Pops pull out of you here, wouldn’t exist at all |
If mama eggs wasn’t fertile wouldn’t exist at all |
The creator gave a nod, I’m a gift to all |
Spring child like a flower, not born in the fall |
Fam came from the South but I was reared up North |
Portuguese grandmother, never met her before |
Pops say, I’m a mirror image of my grandpa |
All I say is strong genes be the only answer |
Yo, ever since I was a kid I was popular |
Seein my future through a pair of binoculars |
From the age of single digits up until my pre-teens |
Always had big dreams in mind, at the time |
So young, I didn’t know my callin would be a rhyme |
Years later manifested in the form of a song |
Playin football, quarterback, O had a arm |
Two-hand touch, picture receiver goin long |
A young black version of Terry Bradshaw |
Older niggas on the block attention I captured |
Miraculous moves, maneuver with the ball in my palm |
Precise throwin first downs, hand-offs and throwin bombs |
Young Don, felt like Juan |
Girls would flirt but I didn’t know how to respond |
Always knowin growin up I’d be a pro and not a con |
Brother from another mother locked up since eighty-one |
Yo — I’m still a young dude, at the same time grown |
Baby boy to my momma, the youngest of four |
My life’s no fairytale, can’t call me Cinder-fella |
Though life be like rain, my thoughts the umbrella |
O, got it covered it’s a gift not a talent |
Bein bougie or corn-chip, I simply won’t allow it |
My aura’s like, well, it’s hard to describe |
Let me just say I’m on the serious side |
Learned lessons from my hood that I dwelled in, resided |
Had my share of gettin drunk as fuck and gettin potted |
Gun in my waist, if I pull it bet I pop it |
Mush my nickname from a cousin I adopted |
Mic the legacy’s on me, I got this |
Reppin when I holla, won’t misuse or mock it |
The word spoken is truth; |
the labor that I put my momma through |
'til now, to her I made a promise to |