| Check this out
|
| When ain’t nothin' else happenin'
|
| And ain’t no more money
|
| The only nigga gon' be here for me, huh
|
| Is the nigga that made me, my mama
|
| Ya heard me?
|
| I thank the Lord I got my mind right
|
| My lifestyle was drastic
|
| Tryin' to avoid the casket
|
| Don’t want my son to be a bastard
|
| But y’all wouldn’t know
|
| But I seen that a couple of times
|
| The Lord talked to me
|
| Told me put the foolishness behind
|
| It’s not worth dying
|
| Tryin' to represent where ya come from
|
| Or makin' beef, because you feel like your that big G
|
| I went the same way, but today, I’m on a higher level
|
| I’m on a paper chase and runnin' behind it like a rebel
|
| I want it all
|
| So me and my mama can ball
|
| The only one that pushed me up, in my downfall
|
| And my pop, been in pennitentaries
|
| 10 wasted years
|
| My mama wasted tears
|
| But she brought me up, by herself, without no help
|
| Used to catch whippings with a leather belt
|
| But that ain’t stop nothin'
|
| I was a Soulja always into stuff
|
| Elementary school I’m cuttin'
|
| Gettin' caught wrote on the B roll
|
| Mama, come sign me out
|
| I don’t like these phony people
|
| Down here to come sign me out
|
| Come bomb me out central lockup
|
| I shoulda put the Glock up
|
| And the two quarters I rocked up
|
| Chorus:
|
| Mom, I love you cause you made me
|
| But pray for your baby cause this ghetto got me crazy
|
| I remember Indo sticks and concrete bricks
|
| Dope fiends fix, Deathrow cliques
|
| That pops them shits
|
| Takin' hits
|
| Had to make more grits
|
| Than a homeless man, hungry man
|
| Had to watch my mom twerk here body, for a ceilin' fan
|
| Pops incarcerated so I hated as a child
|
| But as I grew, I got to knew him so I dug his style
|
| Livin' foul, the law was: get it how you live
|
| Friend or foe, never forgive, crack that niggas rib
|
| By any means ness, get your cake support your fam
|
| Don’t give a damn, robbin' neighbors for some ham
|
| Even spam was a good dish
|
| See we was poor, when we were sick, moms made us well with a kiss
|
| I’m through, my most respect is due, so I spits my gat
|
| Cracks my back
|
| Makin' sure she gets the lack
|
| So well deservin'
|
| Pervin' in some shit I bought her
|
| That’s what she told us: remeber that blood is thicker than water |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Pray For Your Baby, artist - Soulja Slim. Album song Give It 2 'Em Raw, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп