| You start to sway as the story begins to flow
|
| Another solo, no, but it’s another duo
|
| Prodeje hit the map, so zap your back up
|
| Another tale of how a gangsta came up
|
| When I was adolescent my mother tried to school me
|
| But I was wild and acted unruly
|
| So told me, «Yo Prodeje, you could die,» but I said, «So?»
|
| Cause sooner or later we all gotta go
|
| I hit the streets and it was on, like Al Capone
|
| I let my khakis hang low when I roam
|
| I come from the heart of South Central
|
| It ain’t no joke, and if you choke, it’s on the gunsmoke
|
| Now broke as a muthafucka I started to serve
|
| Hangin on the corners gettin on the people’s nerves
|
| And when the cops tried to catch me
|
| They don’t get shit because a nigga’s too slick
|
| I run in an alley and throw my nine in the trees
|
| Jumpin over fences until I couldn’t breathe
|
| The other level of walkin the streets
|
| Is way deeper than a nigga bullshittin over beats
|
| The breaks are hard times and county is a pitstop
|
| Before your ass is smoked, another hardknock
|
| Spittin the dope shit, punk, protect yourself
|
| I started with a nine, now I fear for health
|
| I got a .38 scar, reminder of my first slip
|
| I had a job, but see, some niggas still trip
|
| Call me a sucker, but yo, I’m down for some scrappin
|
| I socked one in the head, then the other started cappin
|
| It left the Prodeje scarred for life
|
| Now I’m doin drive-by's and takin niggas' life
|
| It’s deeper than death, in the hood it’s even deeper still
|
| The cops hate me, they want my cap peeled
|
| Another brother you hate to see
|
| Gettin paid, cause some fear young niggas like me
|
| (Boom-boom-boom on your black ass)
|
| (You want some of this?)
|
| (Then you’re a stupid muthafucka)
|
| Another flow, nigga move slow or get your ass kicked
|
| Another gangsta with the shit you can’t fuck with
|
| I got a heart of steel and a fist of hell
|
| A couple .44, I’m backed by the Cartel
|
| I got a bitch that will kick you in the ass a little
|
| I let the khakis hang low like a criminal
|
| Prodeje said, «Yo Havikk, nigga, kick the real shit
|
| In case a nigga try to ride on your dick»
|
| They call me low-key cause I roam and I pump lead
|
| And put the chrome to the dome of a nigga’s head
|
| And then the bodies start to calculate
|
| On the corner I stand with the gees from upstate
|
| The people don’t know but I’m a loco
|
| Hey yo, I been on the run for a year in South Central
|
| The five-o's roll, they got my name and age ready, yo
|
| I may be Jonathan, James or (?)
|
| I get away, laugh and say fuck em all
|
| Get the spraypaint and strike upon the people’s wall
|
| Deep in the Central it’s hell, so when you stroll through
|
| Watch your ass, muthafucka, or you die too
|
| The sun don’t shine in my city
|
| Cause you get smoked, broked and choked, it’s crazy, no joke
|
| Cause I run game and I slang lley
|
| And I pimp hoes and keepin dough with high-priced clothes
|
| My moms didn’t know how I was livin
|
| Cause I told lies to keep the tears out her sad brown eyes
|
| I kept a nine handy for a drive-by
|
| In case I had to sing a punk fool a lullaby
|
| Yo, another day, another dead-ass muthafucka
|
| Caught slippin, now he’s six feet under
|
| Cause crime don’t pay but crime is life, death and pain
|
| So duck low when my nine goes bang
|
| (Boom-boom-boom on your black ass)
|
| (You want some of this?)
|
| (Then you’re a stupid muthafucka) |