ft. Chink Santana
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I haven't been up this early in a long time
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Turned on the TV this morning, heard the shit on the box
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About living in a violent, violent world
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Showed all these foreign places, foreigners live in them
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Started thinking man, thinking they don't know
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On a shelf, we all camp out, what's going on with the whole world
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Buy ahead and pour out liquor for my dead homies
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Finna flying kites at my fed homies
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And the dogs upstate with a bad only
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In a locker if we pop you it's your head only
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We only kick drug dealer tales
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Another story where you hear a drug dealer tale
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I mean these niggas, they ain't holding water
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Shit, my watch trippy like a frozen water
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Can I live then we go to Florida
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KOD on Mondays, hey, you know the order
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My dope boys are my sole supporters
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Way too many stories of opposing porters
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Niggas fronting like they have half frozen quarters
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Six pack, man, and a roll of quarters
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We was supposed to front the laundry man
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With the mad motherfucker, better honor that
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Old niggas coming home for them long stretches
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We just hope the war is so raw it stretches
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Hope the young niggas don't get the wrong message
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But listen close and you can clearly hear the song's message
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I'm took in, try to tell you them trees cold
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Soon as they catch their case then bitch niggas fold
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Ain't no more honor in these streets
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Soon as they get their heat forget that CODE
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You should go on, gone and buck them
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Fuck their families, their kids and their momma, just gonna fuck 'em
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If you heard the telling, just go and fuck 'em
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This is back in the game, betrayed and go fuck 'em
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My memory is like a cemetery
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Heaven just of memories of men I buried
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So many cars, man, they tend to vary
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So many niggas coming home, they say their plan was scary
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So I respect them for that truthful fact
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But it's baiting disrespect when my wolf go back
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I'm not a saint like a lot today, but I take niggas to church on Saturday
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I'm talking black suits for everybody
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We getting money, buying black coupes for everybody
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Uncle Rick was in the kitchen, cooking
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I was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, looking
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There was hammers in the doors of every whip I'm pushing
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I could spend a couple grand on any nigga looking
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I remember selling coke at a rapid pace
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On the highway just focus on the traffic plates
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Well, that's another trick I'll tell you about
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And don't trip if you slip, we'll bail you out
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Well, let's now pay the waiting game
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We gonna wait to see if he gonna say some names
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I'm took in, try to tell you them trees cold
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Soon as they catch their case then bitch niggas fold
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Ain't no more honor in these streets
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Soon as they get their heat forget that CODE
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You should go on, gone and buck them
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Fuck their families, their kids and their momma, just gonna fuck 'em
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If you heard the telling, just go and fuck 'em
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This is back in the game, betrayed and go fuck 'em
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-----------------
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Boyz N Da Hood
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| Jim Jones |
