Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Die Like a Gee or Live Like a Trick, artist - Poppa Lq. Date of issue: 06.12.1995
Song language: English
Die Like a Gee or Live Like a Trick |
| The early '80s was the time frame |
| When I first moved to the turf on the street named (10th Avenue) |
| Sleepin' on the floor with my folks in a one bedroom |
| Ditchin' school, trynna find a way to make some revenue |
| And sellin' dope is what I need to do to get above |
| I got a sack, rocked it up, chopped it up, and sold it dove for dove |
| I was probably only nine or ten |
| Holdin' the ave, checkin' ends, trynna grind for mine |
| I kept my woke up under my tongue until my mouth got numb |
| Wore a pistol for the fool dumb enough to snatch my dope and run |
| At fifteen I was transportin' herbs |
| Stackin' my money and moved my momma to the suburbs |
| Niggas wanted consignment but I told them all to miss me |
| Now they want to get me and contemplate the pussy |
| The game was gettin' shitty so I bounced up off the state |
| 'Cause niggas was gettin' stuck with Buck Rodgers dates |
| Life ain’t livin' if you’re scared to die |
| A G dies once but a trick dies a thousand times |
| So raise up off me or your ass gets shot |
| You best to say your prays and get your ride on low |
| My mind’s set on the bank roll stroll with them empties |
| Bitches see the date and so they label me a pimp |
| But I’m hustlin', ain’t trustin' nothin' but my paper |
| I used to walk around the hood now niggas catchin' vapors |
| This is safer to let me make mine |
| I re-up, hit the mall after these last nine ounces is gone |
| 'Cause it’s on on the east side, mafia pride |
| These hoes know what’s poppin' when my homeboys ride |
| See it’s all about the westside, where niggas ain’t scared to come outside |
| From 74th to 83rd, fuck what you heard |
| Birds don’t fly south for the winter |
| I sent a key and a half to my G and I laugh |
| I’m countin' my money, I know the math |
| P-I-M-P, see I empty out the clip |
| I make a Blood bleed, a Crip see R.I.P |
| Set trip and I’mma finish it |
| I’m on some Menace shit |
| Pass the mother fucking chronic when it’s lit |
| I was sellin' down the street |
| Some niggas rolled up and said, «Who you from?» |
| I didn’t run, I didn’t have my gun |
| I hit them niggas up 'cause I don’t give a fuck |
| I’m a G and I’m a die like one |
| And you’s a trick |
| I know’s the crack game like I know the back of my hand |
| I can eyeball two keys gram for gram |
| Hook them mother fuckers make them come back at three |
| Shoot one to Alabama, and two to Tennessee |
| And serve them rock for rock |
| And come back there three months later with a mother fucking knot |
| Buys two more and gets my twist on again |
| Takes my time 'cause that’s how a hoodsta win |
| Buys myself a house and a car |
| A poodle for my bitch and two rocks for my yard |
| 'Cause that the way you’re 'spose to see |
| When you’re in the streets puttin' down your hustle, G |
| I’m takin' graveyard chances |
| 'Cause nowadays niggas be actin' hella skanless |
| But look, I don’t fall for it |
| I’m at the mall 'cause a nigga worked hard for it, shit |
| Nigga pack your lunch before you test mine |
| Two to your mother fucking chest if you stress mine |
| You betta bring your whole clique |
| 'Cause nigga I’mma die like a G 'fore I live like a trick |