| Now in a world full of pain, hard strugglin' stressed
|
| The Buddha say your soul sufferin', I’m still here blessed
|
| Just to breath, please believe I’m way out west
|
| Oakland to be exact, where the pimps still rest
|
| And the mean mugs and thugs that test your chest
|
| It’d be so easy for me to be a pess-I-mist
|
| But I’m still here rhyming', still chart climbing
|
| Addicted to the game like I’m on cane vibin'
|
| It’s really all organic, so mamma don’t panic
|
| Your son ain’t a crack fiend, even though I back lean
|
| Hard on a verse til my shit sound clean
|
| The mega lord mix board, sword with a sheen
|
| Unseen in the night, while you sleep without light
|
| I slave to the beat, twist it til it feel tight
|
| Then take it to the sound proof booth with a mic
|
| The only thing in life that always made me feel right
|
| Some my people got high, sold they soul for spit
|
| Some drink water fire, work to that brink
|
| Some make hard love til it starts to sting
|
| I stay rymin', doin' my thing
|
| Some shorties get smart, givin' brain to kids
|
| Some homies get live with their one night fling
|
| Some even go to church, prayin' on they sin
|
| I stay rymin', doin' my thing
|
| In school I did cool, always got them grades
|
| But I acted real bad so the teachers say:
|
| What ya gonna do boy, you gotta go get paid
|
| Man I be rymin', doin' my thing
|
| And when I wrote they would joke that I wouldn’t be shit
|
| Cause we was rocking high fashion, all counterfeit
|
| Tryin' to learn a new dance step, and feel legit
|
| Get a girl with a booty, and real big tits
|
| We was crazy home boy, my mind was warped
|
| By a 40oz bottle, speakin' tales Too Short
|
| What’s my taste is yours, didn’t know what for
|
| Just wanna be a rapper, wanna go on tour
|
| Hit hoochies in a hojo, life moves slowmo
|
| Fast forward today, on planes doin' promo
|
| Now ya see who I am
|
| MC to the heart, I’mma funk the jam
|
| I coulda been a doctor, or psychologist
|
| But it wouldn’t make me happy, I chose to bust
|
| Roll with gamblers and hustlers
|
| Cats who grind all the time, drink and cuss
|
| But there’s something beautiful, it’s right beneath my touch
|
| It’s hard to understand a certain kind of rush
|
| That I get from my lifestyle, struggling trife style
|
| Long way to go, happily I walk a long mile
|
| I’ll… be… coming to town
|
| God gave me many blessings, I’mma spread 'em around
|
| When you see us in the club imma break shit down
|
| And I’ll be rymin', doin' my thing
|
| It’s my thing |