Songtext:
Now when I just made 12 years old Schaufenster Beklebung My mama told me:'Baby boy, you know you gotta be strong And even though they lead you wrong, stay on the right track Cause it ain't no get right without some get back.' Yeah, I heard that, but back then I didn't feel it Cause I was rollin' do or die, tryna see me a ticket, just kickin' G-block, I said I'll never leave Even when the rollers chase me down til I can't breathe Nigga freeze, who me? Oh, never that! I'm hittin' fence after fence until I'm chillin' at my doormat Like a mack I had to get away Cause I'm a smooth operator, ask Shanda But the rollers in the V is so shady If they could, they would plan something on me But really, them ain't the fools I gotta worry 'bout Cause white folks goin' loced in the white house And I doubt a republican or democrate Gives a fuck about us young inner city blacks It's a trap, Uncle Sam keeps cursing me Rather have me in the pen than the university Yeah, it's a shame but mane, that's how it is So ya better peep game and try to lace ya kids Cause it ain't no tellin' what's soon to come When the punk president might drop the bomb Got me all stressed out with my brain on numb My little cousin asking me where dope come from
Chorus: They try to tell us in the verses and the scriptures But I guess the real message must have missed us In '96 all my brothers and my sisters Is on a mission, we're trippin' livin' senseless Tell me, will I see the sun in days to come Will blacks be the victors instead of victims Or will my people keep killing over fuckin' crumbs Pushin' dope just to reach ghetto stardom
If you ask Mac Mall who I'm voting for I say:'Farrakhan' as I'm hittin' the bomb I .. to the swisher or the dohja spliff Get elevated to another as I reminisce About fresh candy paint and peanut butter tops Young hustlers havin' paper, livin' top notch And then the D-game straight decline And all you Sawyer turf niggas makin' headlines 10 o'clock news or America's most Unsolved mysteries, you better soak some dope Then the judge starts droppin' the injuries On all the gangstas, playahs, macks and G's And you know you wont see 'em til about 2 thou' Cause ya boy got washed with a faulty assed trial But at least one day he gone be free Some soldiers ain't never gonna see the streets That's why I keep servin' game over my beats So all my people, in and out, can straight feel me
Chorus
There is nowhere for me to run Nowhere for me to hide from reality But I don't wanna be a casualty Of another tryna smother a brother just cause my salary And dog, I tell ya that these times' so sick That my sister's smoking dohja, 8 months pregnant My brother bubble on the grind and he's way legit Working on his third strike and he still won't quit But I can't tell him nuttin' bout a salary job So in order to get tha paper the boy gotta mob or sob All will fall to the waistside While the rollers overlook they wanna take lifes Youngstas they gettin' raised off the T.V. Got white kids around the country wanna be me And the way they point the finger ain't even shob Television replace religion, now the gangsta's god And old folks wonder why we so crazy 90 knuckleheads and 70 high babies And can't nobody tell me that I'm wrong Uncle Sam finding ways to fit computer chips in my dome So I should ask before you slip See it's higher than the ultimate trip
Chorus
You know, dedicated to DJ Cee, S-Double the Mac Reach Ghetto Stardom
