| There’s a place I know where the bitches go Where they rob you for your dough and shit on the low
|
| in Southside. |
| Queens, Queens
|
| Where if you say The Ave.
|
| People automatically know the path
|
| You don’t have to do the math
|
| in Southside. |
| Queens, Queens
|
| I knew this nigga named Donovan
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| Astonishin the way he used to handle the pill God (word?)
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| Let me speak about the way he used to dribble off his knees
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| and in the middle at the same time guzzlin a beer
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| like a puzzle or a riddle — discoverin his path to the hoop
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| Scoop, shot, tipped up the backboard OOPS
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| Son got hops, never knew he woulda grew it Cool nigga, when it came to school he blew it A scholar in acute niggarisms and metropolitans
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| Get taller and yo Donovan hey come around the block
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| Youngest of three sons, fuckin with coupons and refunds
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| food stamps, and still he was a champ
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| Time to get loot for boots and kicks now
|
| Fuck hoops gotta impress the chicks now
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| His momma said, Donovan why are you
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| on the corner of Linden and Guy R. Brewer
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| He said, Momma listen close I’ma tell you one time
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| You’re killin my high, plus I got a nine
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| All I be doin is puttin in work
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| so you can get a brand new dress for church
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| I know the Devil lurks outside, man it’s cold
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| But I don’t wanna get paid slow, and grow old
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| like poppa — plus I’m on parole I gotta
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| get paid off the streets, to make ends meet
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| With the back of her hand, she smacked him in the face
|
| Walked out of the crib-piece, pissed with no taste
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| That night, rockin Nikes, eatin Mike’n’Ikes
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| Slapboxin with a dyke on a bike too small
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| Thinkin, This time, next year, mom’ll be able to. |
| ohhh!
|
| Shit from across the streets, niggaz approach — slow
|
| Well get the metal out, too late, the guns flash
|
| In the melee they wet him like Reggae Sunsplash
|
| Sun dashed with the quickness, back into the ride
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| with a smile on his face, the picture of pride
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| Blood comin from his mouth, now I’m at his side
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| Kneelin over Donovan’s body before he died
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| Eyes — flutterin up and down in his head
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| And with his last breath this is what he said
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| He said, Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?
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| Then I closed his eyes
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| There’s a place I know where the people go Where you can cash dough and chill on the low
|
| in Southside. |
| Queens, Queens
|
| Where if you say The Ave.
|
| People automatically know the path
|
| You don’t have to do the math
|
| in Southside. |
| Queens, Queens
|
| And if you got a glock, you could bust shots
|
| like ??, when the block be hot
|
| in. what we talkin bout. |
| Queens, Queens
|
| Uhh, c’mon uhh
|
| C’mon. |
| uhh uhh
|
| I know where people go.
|
| Where you can cash dough and chill on the low. |