Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Wake Up (slowed), artist - Z-Ro. Date of issue: 11.08.2001
Song language: English
Wake Up (slowed) |
| Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up |
| The ghetto motherfucking alarm clock |
| Wake up nigga |
| Lord forgive us for sinning, give us this day and our daily bread |
| Cause if a nigga don’t call you back when you beep him, he might be dead |
| Look at this world we living in, everybody got a bad attitude and a Glock |
| Seem like we living just to become a victim, of a random shot |
| Everytime I turn my back, another y’all motherfuckers turn and crack |
| It seem like just yesterday, a young nigga stepped up to the plate and |
| Learn to bat, military minded at a early age bread to live in a murder maze |
| I don’t wanna go to the early grave, a motherfucker like me |
| Ready to murder maze, I wanna go to heaven but not right now |
| Bout to pushing infrared like dimes, what you wanna do it like that |
| I can play eight to the Penn, cut your lights off right now |
| Mean what I say and I say what I mean, nigga like me don’t play with a beam |
| When I pull my gun, then I’ma use my gun |
| And I ain’t tripping, I’ll put you in a murder scene |
| But I try to stay humble, and hold what I got |
| Never let a nigga know what I got, keep my bidness to my own |
| So don’t bring none of that there, to my home |
| I love my people, and that’s a fact |
| But I wanna know, where’s the fucking love at |
| I don’t wanna put a motherfucker, in the grave |
| But I will to keep on, keeping on busting back |
| Wake up before you get caught up |
| Don’t keep on selling your soul, until your life bought up |
| And my eyes on the prize, and never fall off the straight and I roll |
| When you slip, hollow tips are sharper than an arrow |
| I decided August 31, 1999 |
| There’s no more time for fake partnas, there’s only time for my grind |
| All of my friendships came about, because of the verses I say |
| That nigga Z-Ro got partnas, but what about Joseph McVey |
| Everytime I’m on the microphone, nigga wanna tag along |
| Wanna see me, when I do my song |
| Or when a nigga be smoking the marijuana, and the dope all gone |
| A nigga right back, all alone |
| I had to regulate, or be surrounded by fakes |
| At all times looking over my shoulder, but I came out of that as I got older |
| Cause I realized, if it’s written scriptures don’t lie |
| That’s why I’m thugging cause life is a bitch, and then a nigga die |
| I rap about the struggle, cause balling is foreign to me |
| Z-Ro be t-shirt and Dickies, ain’t no Ralph Lauren you see |
| Cause every dolla that I make, is a dolla well earned |
| And I’m putting it back in the game, to sco' some crack |
| And a strap, to dip sherms |
| Hopefully I can make it, to see the sun rise |
| Fiending for them back in the days, of hide and seek |
| And throwing mud pies |
| Bout to swang by that sun, is wait for me be right back |
| I’ma roll a optimoe fat as a wiener, and light that |
| Cause it seems I can’t confine without, clutching a sack |
| Puffing the sho' dipping the black, or raping the track |
| And I be tripping and sipping, and pimping this rap |
| I’m writing my rhymes, through my fetty’s no slack |
| I’m ready to the sell the, the better my chedda |
| Tell her to the fella, I doubts the shredder |
| A better competor, I dwell I’ma get her |
| Better get fella, I sell-a my yella |
| To hella thoed nigga, that wreck accapella |
| The fella that tell it, nobody he got em |
| He got 'em and shot em, and don’t talk about em |
| Plotted and followed, to get where I started |
| Out of my product, the plot of my problem |
| Got off my bottom, to talk to my father |
| My ceiling is ending, my ending is finished |
| These women keep grinning, to swim in my linen |
| I’m tilling my bidness, the bidness I’m tilling |
| I’m tilling my bidness, the bidness I’m tilling |
| What’s up what’s up, had lean in my cup |
| Been asleep ten years, and I just woke up |
| The alarm on slow, all my ten minutes up |
| Gotta make my bed, gotta watch my butt |
| Gotta clean my room, gotta iron my stuff |
| Gotta wash my car, gotta shine my buck |
| Gotta change my oil, cause the road is tough |
| Keep my eyes on the road, and don’t slow up |