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Yes.
|
My lil shortys gonna be a thug.
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Father like son, like son like dad.
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My family all into makin this cash.
|
Shorty's gonna be a thug.
|
Like father, like son, like son, like dad.
|
My family's all into makin this cash.
|
My lil, shortys gonna be a thug.
|
Like father, like son, like son, like dad.
|
My family's all into makin this cash.
|
|
Chorus
|
|
Look in yo eyes
|
an I see, the reflection of me
|
my little guy
|
thank the Lord for blessin me wit a seed
|
before he died
|
my father taught these lessons to me
|
an before I die, I share the same lessons that he was stressin to me
|
nigga it's in yo blood, you gone be a thug
|
no matter the cause
|
niggas born to floss, an be the boss
|
that's how he was taught
|
I raised you in the North
|
away from the hood where, times are hard
|
but as soon as the, grind get hard
|
you put yo time in God.
|
|
Verse 1
|
|
It's in our blood
|
thuggin
|
til the days of my death
|
my last breath taken by the ATF like, David Koresh
|
my steps of life
|
my last testimony, God bless my wife
|
my lil son gone be set for life, always dressed up nice
|
and smokin Kryponite
|
might grow up an rip the mic
|
or slang some chickens like his great grandpappy
|
whatever makes the man happy
|
grands snappy
|
but Lord forbid, he try to do the same shit that his pappy did
|
nigga, end up in some khaki shit
|
handcuffed, in back of the bus wit a gang of other niggas fucked up
|
then shipped up, shit greed
|
shit get deep
|
niggas bleed
|
information juss to get free
|
that's why you never see no busta niggas hangin wit me
|
be a loner
|
if you ain't got that fuckin Dragon tattoo on ya
|
knock a nigga on his ass, so fast the class makes have to use amonia
|
to wake him up
|
nurse, pick him up
|
an take him up
|
hit the dice game in the alley way
|
yo nigga break 'em up.
|
|
Chorus *(Yukmouth)*
|
|
Look in yo eyes
|
an I see, a reflection of me
|
my little guy
|
thank the Lord for blessin me wit a seed
|
before he died
|
my father taught these lessons to me
|
an before I die, I share the same lessons that he was stressin to me
|
it's in yo blood, you gone be a thug
|
no matter the cost
|
born to floss, an to be the boss
|
that's how he was taught
|
I raised you in the North
|
away from the hood where, times are hard
|
but as soon as the, grind get hard
|
you put yo time in God
|
it's in our blood.
|
|
Verse 2
|
|
And send a letter to my killa
|
whoever it my be
|
I know that death is callin, I can hear it pagin me
|
chasin me
|
(ch-ch... haha)
|
like Jason be
|
but ain't no breakin me
|
or takin the safe from me
|
not even a fuckin 8 from me
|
be ready to catch a thirty-eight to the chest straight from me
|
even if they wasted me
|
my son will be replacin me
|
on the street makin g's
|
like his poppy was
|
smokin chronic budded
|
sellin drugs like his poppy does
|
see his poppy was a, mutha fuckin soldier
|
hittin figure eights up in Nova
|
always smokin doja
|
wit a pocket full of quarters
|
went from bein a small timer, to highroller
|
to the block controller
|
set up shop, an got it locked wit all the rocks an powdered cola
|
now the cowards know the time
|
taught you to grind before your time
|
I taught you how to hold a 9
|
taught you how to stay sharper than a poker prime
|
nigga focus yo mind, on the money
|
fuck a big behind
|
an keep a click of down ass niggas, an then you'll be fine
|
these are the rules
|
nigga choose to utilize or loose
|
pay yo dues
|
if I die juss get my face tattooed
|
up on yo shoulder, or right over your heart
|
cuz, when it get dark
|
that's when this shit starts, an daddy didn't raise no marks!
|
|
*(Chorus)* 3x
|
|
|
-----------------
|
father like son
|
| yukmouth |
