[Jim Jones]
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I grew up in the 'jects, five inch what I press
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Fry way to hold a tec, live bait I'm so brazy man
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In them pissy staircases, we just sittin here
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Waitin with them crystal clear cases tryin to make a sale
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When that wreck came around, I'm in the trench with my pound
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I'm pitchin you cracks and the bench is my mound (what's good)
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It ain't no freezin this game, I'm in the freezin the rain
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Tryin to make G's off the 'caine so I can freeze up a chain (Jacob!)
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Or put the Spre's on the thang (spinners!)
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So I can speed through the game (vroom!)
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That's why I think kinda different, and some think that I'm twisted
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Cause I smoke too much, and I drink 'til I'm twisted (I'm on point)
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I'm tryin to maintain to stay afloat (that's right)
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Cause that main game of shavin coke is goin down the tubes (that's a wrap)
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That's why I'm downin booze, I stay surround by dudes
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That chew down my food, bon appetit - chow time
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[Jim Jones]
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The purple, HAZE, keep scorchin and burnin
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Nightmares at night I wake up in sweat, tossin and turnin (I can't sleep)
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I'm light on my sleep, I can't get a wink, I might miss somethin
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I think if I blink I might miss somethin (what happened what happened)
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Constantly rollin up haze (uh-huh)
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As I stomp through this block man they throwin up treys (Eastside)
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We from the streets, know the struggle, know the hustle
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Know the hook, know to cut it, know to double (know that price)
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Now if you don't change your mind, change your grind
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Don't get caught in the facade, don't get caught up on a charge
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(Don't be facin six) You know that life goes by
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Just as fast as them nights goes by
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Hold fast, them blue and whites go by (SQUALIE!)
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We movin white, whole pies
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Hope to God that the law or the vice don't ride (SQUALIE!)
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We been trapped in our own hustle
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You see the government's the powder but the crack is our own hustle
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We smart ain't we?
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[Jim Jones]
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Sheeit, the heat's in the kitchen, I speak to you listen
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The beef if it thicken the heat'll stay clickin, believe that?
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I'll be burnin water, while I turn the corners (uh-huh)
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I'll be more than gone as {?}
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R.I.P., man that's kind of redundant
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Niggaz, dyin off dumb shit, bullets fly when the gun spit
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Plus, man they ridin to dump clips (yes sir!)
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In hooped up whips, the place miss and I scoop up with
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the eighth in 'em, they shoot up shit and straight get 'em (boom)
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They chew up shit like straight sick 'em (sick 'em)
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Over that turf or strip, or that work the bricks
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We'll squirt the shotty, and disperse your squad-dy (woo)
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That's the code of my land
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Over that blue and them grams, niggaz blowin your man (we gon' get 'em)
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Get you all shot over hoes for a grand
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Man, death is so cheap in my hood - short paper
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-----------------
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Talking to the World
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| Jim Jones |
