| You can keep fightin', or you can go home
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| You can keep tryin', or get rolled on
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| I’ma keep ridin', 'cause when the funk is on
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| Most of these so-called rebels ain’t got they phones on
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| So I turn to the killers and the gangbangers
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| Teach 'em how change, doin' the same thang
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| Show a loc how to love himself
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| And how self-hate make you wanna slug yourself
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| Introduce him to the enemy that enemy made
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| And how the evil made 'em murder for the clique that he claim
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| When I see it all click in his brain
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| I put an clip in his hand and tell 'em, «Come on, it’s women to save»
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| You a young black warrior, raised in a battlefield
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| Some say soldier, trained with a strap to kill
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| But it ain’t no good if all you think about
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| Is shootin' up the area Blacks chill, and that’s real
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| Time to leave the wrong for right
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| Gotta make a change in my life
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| Shake all the stress and strife
|
| And gain wealth with knowledge of self, baby
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| Settle down and raise a fam
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| And know about that master plan
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| That’s why we gotta understand
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| Nobody looking out for us but us, true baby
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| History and time have proved nobody cares
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| If you live life cool or you die but you
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| You ride for me homie, I’ma ride for you
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| Long as you understand who you bring the violence to
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| If you hard enough to murder for malt liquor and mean mugs
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| Mash on these bitch-ass cops who bring teens drugs
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| And politicians who pass laws that don’t do shit, keepin' streets corrupt
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| Keepin' us stuck
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| And trapped in that hell hole
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| I know the reason of the reason for the reason which your mind bases hell on
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| You ain’t gotta call hell home
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| If you think twice 'bout smokin' a brother for gettin' his mail on
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| Let me guess, you ain’t workin' for the white man?
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| Who you think you workin' for, sellin' white, man?
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| They lend you yayo, send you to jail
|
| The hard truth of it spells the intent to fail, might as well
|
| Time to leave the wrong for right
|
| Gotta make a change in my life
|
| Shake all the stress and strife
|
| And gain wealth with knowledge of self, baby
|
| Settle down and raise a fam
|
| And know about that master plan
|
| That’s why we gotta understand
|
| Nobody looking out for us but us, true baby
|
| Real G’s know the drama
|
| From being nine years old seein' Five-O feelin' all on your momma
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| Smacked her hard, threw her in the back of the car
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| For some out of date tags on the car
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| That’s hard, real Crips know the real shit
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| Livin' with ya granny 'cause ya daddy ain’t never callin' or give shit
|
| So of course, the anger from the pain just might be the blame
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| For niggas that get they wig split
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| Real Bloods know it’s hard to feel love
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| If daddy was there, but he threatened to kill us
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| And while we did homework, he just did drugs
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| Of course, I’ma flash red rags and give it up, nigga
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| Punk police, deadbeat daddies and crack
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| Are the reason many hated bein' black
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| It’s time to rise up, open your eyes up
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| To the people who created the trap and hate that, take that |