[Verse One]
|
Remember back in the days, when niggaz had waves
|
Gazelle shades, and corn braids
|
Pitchin pennies, honies had the high top jellies
|
Shootin skelly, motherfuckers was all friendly
|
Loungin at the barbeques, drinkin brews
|
with the neighborhood crews, hangin on the avenues
|
Turn your pagers, to nineteen ninety three
|
Niggaz is gettin smoked G, believe me
|
Talk slick, you get your neck slit quick
|
Cause real street niggaz ain't havin that shit
|
Totin techs for rep, smokin blunts in the project
|
hallways, shootin dice all day
|
Wait for niggaz to step up on some fightin shit
|
We get hype and shit and start lifin shit
|
So step away with your fist fight ways
|
Motherfucker this ain't back in the days, but you don't hear me though
|
|
[Verse Two]
|
No more cocoa leave-io, one two three
|
One two three, all of this to me, is a mystery
|
I hear you motherfuckers talk about it
|
But I stay seein bodies with the motherfuckin chalk around it
|
And I'm down with the shit too
|
For the stupid motherfuckers wanna try to use Kung-Fu
|
Instead of a Mac-10 he tried scrappin
|
Slugs in his back and, that's what the fucks happenin
|
when you sleep on the street
|
Little motherfuckers with heat, want ta leave a nigga six feet deep
|
And we comin to the wake
|
To make sure the cryin and commotion ain't a motherfuckin fake
|
Back in the days, our parents used to take care of us
|
Look at em now, they even fuckin scared of us
|
Callin the city for help because they can't maintain
|
Damn, shit done changed
|
|
[Verse Three]
|
If I wasn't in the rap game
|
I'd probably have a key knee deep in the crack game
|
Because the streets is a short stop
|
Either you're slingin crack rock or you got a wicked jumpshot
|
Shit, it's hard being young from the slums
|
eatin five cent gums not knowin where your meals comin from
|
And now the shit's gettin crazier and major
|
Kids younger than me, they got the Sky grand Pagers
|
Goin outta town, blowin up
|
Six months later all the dead bodies showin up
|
It make me wanna grab the nine and the shottie
|
But I gotta go identify the body
|
Damn, what happened to the summertime cookouts?
|
Everytime I turn around a nigga gettin took out
|
Shit, my momma got cancer in her breast
|
Don't ask me why I'm motherfuckin stressed, things done changed
|
|
-----------------
|
Things Done Changed
|
| Notorious B.I.G |
