Six in the morning, police at my door Fresh Adidas squeak across the bathroom floor Out my back window I make my escape Didn't even get a chance to grab my old school tape Mad with no music, but happy 'cause free And the streets to a player is the place to be Got a knot in my pocket weighing at least a grand Gold on my neck, my pistol's close at hand I'm a self-made monster of the city streets Remotely controlled by hard hip-hop beats But just living in the city is a serious task Didn't know what the pigs wanted, didn't have time to ask
Word, word, word
Seen my homeboys cooling way, way out Told 'em 'bout my morning, cold bugged 'em out Shot a little dice 'tll my knees got sore Kicked around some stories 'bout the night before Posse to the corner where the fly girls chill Threw action at some freaks 'til one bitch got ill She started acting stupid, simply would not quit Called us all punk pussies, said we all weren't shit As we walked over to her, ho continued to speak So we beat the bitch down in the goddamn street Just living in the city is a serious task Bitch didn't know what hit her, didn't have time to ask
Word, word, word
Continued clocking freaks with immense posteriors Rolling in a Blazer with a Louis interior Solid gold, the ride was raw Bust a left turn, was on Crenshaw Sean-e-Sean was the driver, known to give freaks hell Had a beeper goin' off like a high school bell Looked in the mirror, what did we see? Fucking blue lights, L. A. P. D Pigs searched our car, their day was made Found an Uzi, . 44 and a hand grenade Threw us in the county high-power block No freaks to see, no beats to rock Didn't want trouble but the shit must fly Squabbled with the sucker, shanked 'em in the eye Just living in the county is a serious task Nigga didn't know what hit him, didn't have time to ask
Word, word, word
Back on the streets after five and a deuce Seven years later, but still had the juice My homeboy Hen Gee put me up on the track Told me E's rolling Villain, BJ's got the sack Bruce is a giant, Nat C's clocking dough Be-Bop's a pimp, my old freak's a ho The batter rams rolling, rocks are the thing Life has no meaning and money is king Then he looked at me slowly and Hen had to grin He said, "Man, you out early, we thought you got ten" Opened his safe, kicked me down with long cash Knew I would get busy, he didn't waste time to ask
I bought a Benz with the money, the rest went on clothes Went to the strip, started pimping the hoes My hair had grew long on my seven year stay When I got it done, on my shoulders it lay Hard from the joint, but fly to my heart I didn't want trouble, but the shit had to start Out with my crew, some punks got loud Shotgun blasts echoed through the crowd Six punks hit, two punks died All casualties were applied to their side Human lives had to pass just for talking much trash We didn't know who they were, no one had time to ask
Word, word, word, word, word
Confirmação de Idade
Esta letra possui restrição de idade, você deve ter mais que 18 anos para acessá-la.