Lyrics
It’s your life, don’t be stupid though…
(Your funk is the best. Take-take my body and give it the mind)
'Cause when you waste it…
It’s your life, don’t-don't be stupid though…
(Your funk is the best. Take-take my body and give it the mind)
'Cause when you waste it.
Nowwwwwwwwwwww I come from, the Oakland town
Task force roll and rock, cold cracked down
Young brothers my age makin dollars so long
Drive a brand new Benz with a cellular phone
See his diamonds and gold, call him Big Bank Bob
Got a ring for each finger and he can’t get a job
This is not a song I made about crack
It’s all about losin' what you can’t get back
Cause the name of the game is to control yo' life
And all the things you do you must do them right
It’s not my life, it’s on you baby
What’s really goin on is that cash money
How you make it, it doesn’t matter to me
Work at McDonald’s or just slang them ki’s
Or you can be like me and go straight legit
Drive a brand new Benz and they can’t say shit
Partners in your face, ain’t even your friend
Probably have to blast him if you see him again
And if you don’t blast him you’ll get shot in the head
Seven days later you’ll be buried and dead
I can’t be like that, the only thing you fear
Homeboy you can’t see it but you know it’s there
It’s called tomorrow, whatcha gonna do with that
Cut school, sell a few dopefiends crack?
It’s not a one-way street, it’s more like a dead-end
So if you take it, you better turn back my friend
I know a lot of young brothers don’t think things through
They really don’t know what they wanna do
When you lag, you lose, you start payin your dues
You can’t kick back and let your bankroll stack
You’ll be stuck on stupid, for smokin a friend
Ten years from now you’ll still be in the pen
I got my eighteens pumpin, ridin the five
People lookin at me like I stole the ride
Am I a gangster, player, makin them G’s
Cocaine dealer with the Z’s and V’s
Can’t tell em nothin, so I say, «Whassup?»
They get mad, I don’t give a fuck
I keep ridin, sidin, whippin and dippin
Look at all my homeboys trippin
They’ll knock you out, one punch like the champ
Goin to jail is like summer camp
We shake hands one day, kill each other the next
And if you don’t like it it’s just like that
Cause I come from, the city of dope
It couldn’t be saved by John the Pope
But since I have the chance, I’ll say in the rhyme:
We have to stop the killin sometime (soon)