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You know I never was no choir boy
|
Ya folks got a gang of priors
|
Maybe that's why the one time's be triflin
|
Tryin to give a young nigga thirty five to life
|
When I ain't even done nothin wrong off icer
|
I have no in fo to offer ya
|
He asked my name so I came off the brain
|
Told him "I'm John Doe and this is my hoe Jane"
|
He said "Smart mouth nigga don't make me do ya"
|
Put my thumbprint in his high tech computer
|
My name came back with a warrant, felo-nies
|
Now they got me down-town, spread my anus
|
Buttock, I'm like, "What the FUCK is it now?"
|
He said, "You robbed a liquor store; we know where, when and how"
|
It's foul, they got a nigga to' up from the, flo' up
|
My mom, in the courtroom lookin like she bout to throw up
|
It's a strong armed robbery, strapped in the commision
|
at my pre-trial conference, D.A. had a proposition
|
He said if I lose at trial I'd get the ? with the L on top
|
but take the deal he'd give me five with havin most of the charges
|
dropped
|
Hopped on the deal quicker than blast, and said
|
"I admit that, but two and a half ain't bad I got getback"
|
They sentenced me to five, two I gotta bring
|
It's only strike one swing, batta batta swing
|
Chorus:
|
It's one-eight-seven on the D.A., cause they
|
ain't tryin to give a young motherfucker no leeway
|
Yes yes... y'all
|
One-eight-seven on the whole courtroom, motherfuck em all
|
You better swing, batta batta swing
|
Cause once you get your third felony, your fifty years you gotta bring
|
It's a deadly game of baseball
|
So when they try to pull you over
|
1 - shoot em in the face y'all
|
2 - shoot em in his face y'all
|
3 - take em on a chase y'all
|
Fresh out the pen, unrehabili-tated
|
Doin hella good, and my P.O. hates it
|
Hates Dick, she's a dyke lesbian bitch
|
Can't wait to violate for me for some petty ass shit
|
I gotta get a job, so I'm fillin out applications
|
Fightin the temptation, to slang nightshift, uhh
|
Minimum wage don't get it, five bucks a hour
|
don't cut it, man I ain't widdit
|
So fuck it, I went and struck it rich, on the dope sack
|
My homie gave me two, and told me to bring a fo' back
|
Now it's time for me to start havin thangs
|
I flips me a Coupe and painted it candy-apple green
|
It gleams, clear coat sprayed on thickly
|
Fools out to get me cause my shit is lookin sticky
|
I'm at the club and I can feel them suckers scopin
|
I'm knowin they plottin on me, but I'm still hopin
|
that they won't fry me, unless they wanna die
|
They will be, drippin more blood, than Mrs. Simpson was
|
Sho' nuff, ain't no bluff, here them suckers come
|
Got me reachin up under the panel to handle the forty-four caliber
|
gun, uhh
|
Spun his ass around with one of the fat Magnum rounds
|
Got him on the ground makin funny sounds, ohh
|
I got a problem, witnesses ten
|
Positive identifa-cation
|
Chorus
|
On swoll in the pen, cellmates with X-Raided
|
Now I'm on parole, five years later
|
The Bo loc is ready to have me a ball
|
Fuck my P.O., I'm goin AWOL
|
And you all can suck this dick, I'm sick
|
and tired of goin through all this bitch-made shit
|
I got two strikes right now as we speak, and peep
|
I'm not bout to let you motherfuckers do, me
|
I'm petty with a prior, will buy your fate
|
With Wilson in the office, you gets no date
|
So I'm putting all my belongings on Greyhound bus #22
|
Bound to another state, me and my crew
|
Unpacked my shit, stacked my grip
|
California and Pete Wilson can suck my dick!
|
And if you didn't already know, that you couldn't
|
trust his ass, just look how he did Polly Klass
|
Used her death, and her family's name
|
so he can yank more votes, and political fame
|
It's a shame, that I'm the one they say is a monster
|
Juvenile delinquent, steppin out of sync with
|
but FUCK THAT, I ain't goin out, like a punk
|
That ain't my style, rip him from his asscrack
|
to hit nutsacks now, they wanna kill a nigga
|
like me I blast one blast two that's strike three
|
Chorus
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
deadly game
|
| c bo |
