(I ain`t gotta lie to kick it, or lounge)
(Since everywhere I go is trouble-infested)
(I ain`t gotta lie to kick it, or lounge)
(I talks bad, way about a silly tramp bitch)
(I ain`t gotta lie to kick it, or lounge)
(Since everywhere I go is trouble-infested)
(I ain`t gotta lie to kick it, or lounge)
(I talks bad, way about a silly tramp bitch) --> Rube
[ VERSE 1: Rube ]
Congratulations for your patience, folks
Young Rube comin through with the trey gold spokes
I need yokes on a bitch I wanna get with
I need a old school mob with a shift kit
Left, right, head bobbin, mob type of chaos
All you punks talkin jeal`, tear the shit way off
Cause I ain`t with the funny style charades
I rather hit `em doggy while I`m tuggin dookie braids
I`m talkin bad muthafucker with the sick rappin
I`m talkin slang from the turf and not the pig latin
My pops told me when I was at the AJ
Never become a suspect of a date rape
If she don`t want ya you don`t need her
You don`t buy her clothes, you don`t feed her
Never would I cross over for applause
Never would I save a hoe for the drawers
Can`t we all get along was the question
That they shot to the blacks and the Mexicans
Answer came back like this, potna, Eat a dick
Shit is fucked up and you too blind to see a trick
(I got no words for the sucker butts, the tricks, the clowns)
(And I ain`t trippin, my shoes is tied)
(I got no words for the sucker butts, the tricks, the clowns)
(Cause muthafuckers mo` dirty than a shit stain)
(I got no words for the sucker butts, the tricks, the clowns)
(And I ain`t trippin, my shoes is tied)
(I got no words for the sucker butts, the tricks, the clowns)
(Cause muthafuckers mo` dirty than a shit stain) --> Beesh
[ VERSE 2: Beesh ]
Crack my cranium, check what`s inside
I got a whole lot of things on my mind
Feelin like a bloodclot
I`m stuck in a state, weary of the jack move
I couldn`t stand the rock, I stay hip to the black groove
Playa pimpin shittin for the swingers, man
House parties bunk, gettin out of hand
Young buck strivin for the cockola
15 and couldn`t wait till I was older
At that point didn`t think about carryin
A fat gat, all my potnas, they be buried in
And now I`m my twenties and I`m like fuck
I got the rabbit`s foot searchin for the right luck
And house parties shut down before they get started
A young fool had to go and try to get retarted
That`s how it goes in the nine-o, I can`t deny it
I`m out to get mine, pockets never on a diet
Black on black and brown on brown
Crime in the town, player haters and the cock hounds
( ? ) old school left in the old days
Before the crack, before the AIDS, before the ( ? )
(I gaffle on the baggy when I`m jigga-jigga-limpin)
(Funk Slave soldier in the paint gettin heated)
(I gaffle on the baggy when I`m jigga-jigga-limpin)
(The gut runna killa, call me beaver hunter)
(I gaffle on the baggy when I`m jigga-jigga-limpin)
(Funk Slave soldier in the paint gettin heated)
(I gaffle on the baggy when I`m jigga-jigga-limpin)
(The gut runna killa, call me beaver hunter) --> Chezski
[ VERSE 3: Chezski ]
And really when you think about the pain stroke
Busy tryina do for me and all my kinfolk
I hate it when I`m lookin at my po` father
Strugglin to keep his head above the risin water
But still he`s gotta push in the cold wind
Take a look up at his life till it soaks in
And promise to myself when I`m holdin fat
I`ma break him off a chunk and give some love back
Get it `fore they do is how the game`s played
I try to follow rules and mama Kool-Aid
Then again I`m lookin up for the steep hill
My people first, and need a nother refill
And brothers on the search for the good job
Tired of bein labelled as an old slob
But never does he find what he look fo`
A lotta jobs for the rich and none for the po`
That`s why I`m dippin low with a loose screw
And when it comes to this it ain`t shit new
Real to the say and tell it all straight
Never trippin off the fools that wanna raise hate
