Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Still Strugglin', artist - Raekwon.
Date of issue: 13.04.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Still Strugglin' |
I know how it feels to wake up fucked up |
Pockets broke as hell, another rock to sell |
People look at you like you’re the user |
Selling drugs to all the losers mad Buddha abuser |
But they don’t know about the stress-filled day |
Baby on the way mad bills to pay |
That’s why you drink Tanqueray |
So you can reminisce and wish |
You wasn’t living so devilish s-shit |
I remember I was just like you |
Smoking blunts with my crew |
Flipping over SIXTY-TWO's |
Cause G-E-D wasn’t B-I-G, I had to get P-A-I-D |
That’s why my mom hates me |
She was forced to kick me out, no doubt |
Then I figured out Nick’s went for twenty down south |
Packed up my tools for my raw power move |
Glock nineteen for casket and flower moves |
Four chumps trying to stop my flow |
And what they don’t know will show on the autopsy |
Went to see papi, to cop me a brick |
Asked for some consignment and he wasn’t trying to hear it |
Smoking mad Newports cause I’m doing court for an assault |
That I caught in Bridgeport, New York |
Catch me if you can like the ginger bread man |
You better have your gat in hand |
Cause man |
A man with a dream with plans to make C.R.E.A.M |
Still struggling, Survival got me buggin' |
(Souls of a soldier in the streets of survival) |
Life as a shorty shouldn’t be so rough |
(The rough life, I just be up nights. It got me) |
Still strugglin' |
(Campaign) |
Lay out your maintain |
(In the everyday struggle) |
I grew up on the crime side, the New York Times side |
Staying alive was no jive |
Had secondhands, moms bounced on old man |
So then we moved to Shaolin land |
A young youth, yo rockin' the gold tooth, 'Lo goose |
Only way I begin to G off was drug loot |
And let’s start it like this son, rolling with this one |
And that one, pulling out Gats for fun |
But it was just a dream for the teen, who was a fiend |
Started smoking woolies at 16 |
And running up in gates, and doing hits for high stakes |
Making my way on fire escapes |
No question I would speed, for cracks and weed |
The combination made my eyes bleed |
No question I would flow off, and try to get the dough all |
Sticking up white boys in ball courts |
My life got no better, same damn 'Lo sweater |
Times is rough and tough like leather |
Figured out I went the wrong route |
So I got with a sick tight clique and went all out |
Catchin' keys from across seas |
Rollin' in MPV’s, every week we made forty G’s |
Yo brothers respect mine, or anger the TEC-9 |
(Get live, muthaf~) |