Put Eazy E, Common Sense, Mobb Deep, Rakim, put 'em in a blender
Truth. Hood knowledge. Get the fuck out the way; Termanology!
They say I’m a righteous cat
I write righteous raps
But I cut coke, cook it to crack
Thinking what kind of life is that?
Get tossed in the bin
Never knowin' when you might come back
I listen to Jesse Jack
Black clip in the gat
And write lyrics to the soul of Geronimo Pratt
I’m talkin' to anyone who got a problem with that
I’m everywhere, tell me where your metropolitan at
I’m right there doin' a show
My fist in the air
That’s why your girl wanna polish my knob
And every rapper in the city wanna poli so hard
But before I do a song with y’all
I’ll blow my brains out on the Bible
And call it the knowledge of God
My cousin Gutta get the problems resolved
He specialize in cuttin' up niggas nice
And doin' robberies, dog
And when I’m whippin' the gauge
You gonna be gone in 60 seconds like Nicholas Cage
Pay attention when I’m rippin' the page
When I’m not on stage
I feel plagued with meticulous rage
I seen my first nigga shot at a ridiculous age
Before Earvin Magin Johnson was a victim of AIDS
Cats thinking cause they sit and they pray
Because they Christian they safe
Til reality just spit in they face
But I’ll tell you one thing
When bullets start flying
Jesus Christ ain’t gonna sit in the way
Like modern-day slaves how we sit in the maze
Won’t pay your child support but you could chip in for haze
My baby mama been trippin' for days
She hate the fact I’m a star
And model bitches wanna sit on my face
She’d love to see a brother sit in a cage
Take my daughter away
And let another nigga sit in my place
Momma told me that it’s only a phase
But I told Ma dukes, before that I’d put a clip in my fade
That’s way too much opportunity to sit and embrace
The evolution of man, we been sittin' in caves
Before I ever had a nickel to blaze
Meanin' a nickel of weed
Or a nickel 9 spittin' them strays
I been tryin' to get my shit on the waves
DJs holdin' me down but never play my shit in the days
It’s no way that I might win
With only the night spins
But- but- but- I ain’t gonna sit and complain
Old timers slingin' shit in they veins
Cause they know it won’t hit 'em the same
Can’t slip in any chicken these days
Give 'em a trip in the Range
And they be lickin' on a pickle with AIDS
I wish my grandmama could have heard this shit from the grave
I know she would have loved to hear her boy rip it this way
Life’s so cold in the street
You might get shot up or you could go in your sleep
To all my soldiers that die for they flag
Or that die for their rag
It’s messed up you had to lay in a bag
It’s no fair ones
Ain’t no more relyin' on jabs
Now you supply with a mask
And a guy’ll just blast
It’s fucked up I gotta ride in a cab
But as soon as I get a check
I gotta divide it in half
I feel like I should be right in a Jag
On the flight with a mag
And 100 Gs right in the stash
They don’t wanna see a Puerto Rican writing this bad
Cause when I write on the pad I get it tight and they mad
Cause I got a lot of fame in rap
But I’m back livin' right with my dad
I’m part French, part spic,
how racist is it that
Police wanna treat me like I’m basically black
And you don’t wanna talk about my gats
Cause they like Charlie Baltimore, they German and black
It’s hard to earn, but I’m earnin' the stat
This the moment of truth
So I’m tryin' to writes like that
My vocals burn, set fire to tracks
That’s why my CDs fly off the rack
Groupie bitches they be showin' me love
When I roll in the club
They lovin' the way that I flow on the drums
Plus the way I make dough in the slums
Keep smoke in the lungs
And write rhymes more potent than drugs
Y’all don’t wanna end up chokin' on slugs
With a throat full of blood
You should watch how you open your mug
Watch how it go down
when them pistols around
Cause you could end up with a slug through your wisdom and chow
Bullets flying through your kitchen and blaow
More people in the church than the christening now
Probably could’ve been avoided but you was too paranoid
Off sniffin' you ain’t seein' choices
My voice is something like Kennedy
Except you gon' remember me for killin' these mics
Not gettin' murked out by my enemies
I’m livin' the life most of these rap niggas pretend to be
Sellin' mean gettin' locked up by the police and my friend’ll be
Way past due if I lay past two
So I’m on that early bird shit, grey that goose
And when you baggin' up dimes of drawer
It’s better to make that loose
Cause it look like it’s way more to these customers
They don’t understand the agenda of real hustlers
They just wanna cop what you’re sellin' and roll dutches up
Get they minds stimulated and away from the troubles of
Situations that we go through throughout our daily life
Which homie banging your wife
It’s probably an A you like
(And he wanna tell you)
But he dont know how he can say it right
You’ll probably pick up a knife
And slay him that very night
Then I dont be wifin' up bitches
Make you put it on the line
Like Ghost and baby Trife
Get you shot up in your ride
Like BIG and Obie Trice
The bullets ain’t nothing nice
But until I see the light--