Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Gotta Believe It, artist - Saigon. Date of issue: 07.09.2009
Song language: English
Gotta Believe It |
| Whoa-ohh, we keep risin to the top |
| Whoa-ohh, and keep eyes out for the cops |
| Whoa-OHH! |
| And that’s what it’s gon' be |
| Whoa-OHH! |
| Cause you ain’t gon' stop me |
| They got you workin two jobs tryin to make ends meet |
| You just tryin to keep yo' kids off the street |
| You gotta believe it (best believe if you dream it) |
| Oh, you better believe it (you too can achieve it) |
| Uh-oh, they got you locked in a hole, 19 years old |
| Ten years, no chance for parole |
| You better believe it (that's right, tell 'em again) |
| Oh, you gotta believe it (after that, tell a friend) |
| Ohhh-ohhh |
| After the sunshine come the rain, after the fun time come the pain |
| I often wonder if it’s gonna change |
| I caught a bad case of Smack-a-Bitchy-Itis (what happened?) |
| I came home, my wife got my daughter in shitty diapers (damn) |
| The rice is still raw, and the meat is still frozen in the freezer |
| I hate that I’m too close to her to leave her |
| Either I hit the street to do some pitchin, knowin these dudes is snitchin |
| Or die tryin to make it as a musician |
| My livin condition is not in the greatest position (nope) |
| And nah I ain’t bitchin, I just gotta make a decision |
| Should I breeze past, hop out in a ski mask |
| Rob everything movin and cruise in a G-Class (vroom!) |
| But keep writin the heat that the street like it |
| Young’uns is recitin my lyrics, so keep bitin |
| Y’all niggas thinkin shit is easy, it’s hard |
| One thing I know I’mma do is keep believin, keep believin in God |
| After the fast songs come the slow, after the sad songs come some mo' (mo') |
| This is the life I have come to know |
| Police is in Marquis', Chevy Caprices stroll |
| The young hood boogers idolize Keyshia Cole |
| The rap figures throwin money in the air like it’s pizza dough |
| People in the hood ain’t eatin though (though) |
| I tried to help the labels see the vision |
| But they lowered me to a subdivision, you gotta be fuckin kiddin |
| They’d rather me pretend to be somethin I’m not |
| I’m the new Public Enemy, I’m different than Yung Joc |
| And nah, I ain’t dissin, this nigga’s up in the Forbes |
| Shit I ain’t made a dollar tryin to rap for the cause |
| But in these next four bars, I’ll tell you about maleviolent laws |
| They enforcin on North American shores |
| Dawg, if they could have rifles on their farms |
| Then I don’t see why they knocked T.I. |
| for tryin to bear arms |
| Tell 'em wave at the artist, I feel like I’ll make it regardless |
| Don’t forget I’m the ex-con that made it the farthest (yup) |
| Until the day that I lay with the martyrs |
| Or until the day I’m parlayin, playin with my sons and my daughters (uh) |
| I’mma remain the smartest, hardest, workin nigga in the business |
| Just Blaze, can I get a witness? |
| See that they probably get it if I come out and flop |
| Get dropped, go back to my block and get shot (pop) |
| As they puttin my body in that life-size Ziplock |
| Then you’ll be sayin «Damn, Giddy died for this hip-hop» |
| Or maybe it’ll tell you to get locked |
| To another 20 in the rock for them to give me my props |
| Whatever the case may be |
| You do a census on who is the sickest lyricist, they say me |
| And that’s without a album out, y’all rated me |
| I drop one and I’mma bow out gracefully |
| Keep keep keep rising, whoa-ohh |
| Keep keep keep rising, whoa-OHH! |
| Keep keep keep rising, whoa-OHH! |
| Keep keep keep rising, whoa-ohh |
| Woo! |
| We on the radio (we on the radio!) |
| Yo turn up the radio! |
| (we on the radio) |
| Yo we got one, now we got the game on lock! |
| Turn it up! |
| C’monnnnn |
| We got on the radio, AHH! |