Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Tryin to Breathe, artist - Talib Kweli. Album song Train of Thought: Lost Lyrics, Rare Releases & Beautiful B-Sides, Vol. 1, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 20.07.2015
Record label: Javotti Media
Song language: English
Tryin to Breathe |
I’m from a place where real is real |
(Okay, we about to be out of here) |
I’m just tryna breathe |
(Talib Kweli, Killer Mike) |
I’m from a place hustler’s still |
(Beautiful struggle continues) |
Rob and steal and kill |
And extort and |
I’m from a place where real is real |
I’m just tryna breathe |
I’m from a place hustler’s still |
Rob and steal and kill |
And extort and |
(Yo it’s so dangerous man, let’s go) |
Baby’s locked in cages |
Mamas look twice they ages |
Starvation’s too much to stomach |
This must be Reaganomics |
These ain’t for Martin Luther |
Don’t let that name dupe ya |
And how he’s born violent |
He’s on that younger future |
On my block, boys with they hair |
Walk like two miles, sell crack rock |
And sell some samilia |
It sound familiar? |
Mi hombre, this is our familia |
Addicted felons, gun stealers |
And dope dealers |
And I’m from where coke is captain |
And you can buy whole in the back |
Of your block, in a napkin |
By themselves, children are left to fend |
So we indulge in sin |
Do what it takes to win |
Push off, shoot that jump |
But please check yourself, we win |
(I'm official |
Your Georgia homeboy |
Killer kill |
Putting it down for the ghetto) |
Ride with cracked up bumpers |
Do what it takes to win |
We mix our juice with Gin |
We mix our fight with hands |
We burn our dro slow |
Only with our closest friends |
We never scared |
We ride and die for one another |
This ain’t my boy |
This boy here, he’s my brother |
For him my blood’ll spill |
For him I will kill |
This is true, my testimony live from Dixie Hills |
This is Killa Kill, live I rest from Adamsville |
Before he toured school, my father was an entertainer |
Traveling through the south with a band of the crackers love to hang ya |
He stayed with me while I know most niggas pots is strangers |
Got soo gangsta, godfather to my cousin in van |
My suns is daily green |
These is the roots of my family tree |
My path is locked, I’ll hand you the key |
I ran through the streets, niggas can’t advantage of me |
I’ve seen calamities, soo much insanity, oh the humanity |
From a place where niggas keep the game face of the grills |
And go to the steel to make it real just to pay off some bills |
While robbing and killing is just basic skills |
But still niggas documented on those tapes of film |
Bullets gon' hit you in your stomach, near where your spleen be |
And rip you open, split six pack in half the mean three |
Yeah put addicts in the order, manics, yeah the hood have it |
You know the hood pack it, leave you in the wood jagged |
I wish you would actin', Brooklyn don’t act a fool |
When apex tack only way to pack a tool |
I got the flappers, you know the swagger with attitude |
Nigga piss in my ear, I let 'em go like ladders do |
Oh you wanna battle dude? |
You my challenger? |
I’m bad for you |
Make a snappy dude become a grown ass man, dawg, this shit I have to do, |
bad for you |
When I spatter you back up a few feet away |
When niggas laugh at you, you feel like there’s something you need to say? |
I’m from a place where real is real |
I’m just tryna breathe |
I’m from a place hustler’s still |
Rob and steal and kill |
And extort and |
I’m from a place where real is real |
I’m just tryna breathe |
I’m from a place hustler’s still |
Rob and steal and kill |
And extort and |