The baddest bitches on the block be even speaking 'bout me I'm 'bout it 'bout it, nigga ain't shit sweet about me With the Testarossa, hit Daytona,fuck the law, we soldiers Mommy watching Oprah, Daddy in the kitchen whipping sodaĬook-connect named Sosa, Spanish chick Viola hit it in the chocha I do this for my culture, penny, nickels in the sofa That's everyday shit, shit we used to thatĪdd it up, do the math with your stupid assĭon't view me as no conscious cat, this ain't no conscious rapįuck the conscious crap, my mac'll push your conscience back Left three dead, but one split, that one miss, that one snitched We had cookouts and dirt bikes and dice games and fistfightsĪnd fish fries and shootouts like one Sig with two roundsĪnd one click left two down, that's four kids but one lived Girbaud jeans with hologram straps and reflectors On the park bench playing checkers, sipping nectar Roaches on the wall, roaches on the dresserĮverybody had roaches but our roaches ain't respect us I guess that's why the crackers kept me after school Locs got me blind, thugging like I'm Eazy-E up in his prime What's up, what's on your mind? Hold up, I'm feeling fine Ricky had a deuce-deuce, two shotty pumps with a baby nineīusta had the rhymes, Puffy had the Shyneīone Thugs had Mo Thugs but that was the shit, that made me rhyme I remember when, I was like ten, maybe nine I swear this famous shit just happened overnightįor sure these hoes was so uptight, but now they so politeĪll I see is fake love, smiles, and overbites
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