调：G minor
Verse 1
to sit back here,
in this studio,
hollering my name.
Em
Am
You're talking to the Rolex, wearing,
diamond ring wearing,
son of a gun,
holding these allegations down.
I'm straight up out them streets,
with loose lips,
Where everybody gotta hustle,
but everybody ain't nip
but we didn't play with Scott Pipp
we just tryna make a flip
that mean they did it
with no attempt
all swish, no assist
fuck bein' blood
His only choice was bein' Crip,
This shit I'm talkin' bout,
This ain't no barbershop,
not catchin' feds
a lot of standin' on that block,
how I was paid on Vincent Rowe
Where I sold Miss Kim Crack,
she died of AIDS,
I can't do you niggas no solid,
cause niggas ain't really solid
Won't do me like Christopher Wallace,
you did this to yourself
Am
D
Bm
Em
Life after death, it's south
I swear we came from poverty
Now these chains be getting tangled up
And if you try to reach for it, follow
One in your cranium,
So ain't no saving us,
So my addict got them elbows
everywhere
Like WrestleMania I played
But I didn't like the car shuffled
Yeah we all hustle
Tell my youngins shoot it
He gon' pull up and starbuck you
The one that's locked up the road,
This for the little homie writing
raps
can't make him a call
could've made it out the hood rapping
But now he a dog
In the jail cell, breaking laws
Fuck a producer,
pops was coming home soon
That was every visitation
gotta be gone by 12 noon
I told the streets to make room
That's when I seen a junkie
cook it off a spoon
Am
D
Bm
Em
It's my real life
F
custom -made clothes,
no matter what you tell yourself.
get used to it.
Em
Thank you.
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