| I breathe through the pain and exhale for, single parent homes | 
| Exhale crack addict withdrawls they can’t bear alone | 
| Exhale smoke from the barrels of those bearin' chrome | 
| Exhale for the slums where angels went there to roam | 
| Wrote my first verse in a book of Tops | 
| That rolled the weed that had the crooked cops tryna book my pops | 
| He lived in a bottle, when he drank, I shook the spot | 
| Wrote 3 16s for everytime he took a shot | 
| Took it as a sign of confirmation | 
| When Will’s brains was blown on the safe, couldn’t find the combination | 
| Minor confrontations no longer pugilistic | 
| We resolved 'em with the hugest biscuits | 
| Understand — I seen too much not to address it | 
| Held the tools that you got you undressin' | 
| And I would exhale jewels and spot you this blessin' | 
| Now, take a deep breath, be honest with yourself, and exhale when I drop you | 
| this question — | 
| When was the last time you breathed | 
| Walked the streets without a vest and gat tucked in the sleeve | 
| When was the last time you | 
| Without the assist of alcohol or twistin' up leaves | 
| This is season tickets to my pain, I invite you ingraduly | 
| Show me a hero, and I’ll, write you a tragedy | 
| If there’s bullet wounds, I’ma right through it’s cavity | 
| Insightful and avidly up close and personal | 
| I don’t draw pictures — I texturize the paint | 
| To touch souls of soldiers next to risin' rank | 
| That’s findin' it difficult to exercise restraint | 
| 'Cause when it comes to whips, women, and extra pies, we can’t | 
| Die broke, that’s some of our fears | 
| Every summer y’all hear shells drops | 
| 'Cause cats makin' sure they numbers are here | 
| When there’s a hood, there’s a struggle | 
| There with knuckles and gats, settle my several scuffles in an appropriate | 
| manner | 
| And if Soviet hammers, won’t hestitate | 
| Patience is a virtue, that can six feet dirt you | 
| And have your spirit leavin' Earth, and what’s even worse? | 
| A lot stop breathin' before they mastered breathin' first | 
| It goes one for Ken’s kite, two for twin light-skinned dykes | 
| Three for T-Max with white pinstripes | 
| Wish I could send 'em, Lord knows what your life’s been like | 
| Five years in the beast with no ray of light in sight | 
| But I’ma ride 'til the Good Lord put it in neutral | 
| Keep extra clips fuller than usual | 
| Cocksuckas that wanna pull it and shoot you | 
| I’ma put a bullet in mutual, Channel 32 Fox bulletin news you | 
| Speak to Marilyn Manson, crack is viable | 
| Where atheists and Baptists rival | 
| Home of evangelists and black disciples | 
| And two-time felons that’s quick to carjack you with an ROTC practice rifle | 
| Change the game, same rules to ref use | 
| So F you, I refuse to leave until the impact I left’s huge | 
| This here’s a redneck incestuous flow — son of your nephews |