Lyrics:
out of luck with a nigga
cause you wanna make shit tough for a nigga hey
[Whe-Whe]
Where i'm from niggas love to live by the code [uh]
they'd rather
in the chariot by stampeding horses
Had to bring it back to New York
I'm happy that the streets is back in New York
For you rappers, I carry
in the chariot by stampeding horses
Had to bring it back to New York
I'm happy that the streets is back in New York
For you rappers, I carry
can stop me
But i can only thank god
For this life i live
Well i just got back from selling a few tees
Me and refuge in the studio
We finally gon
I got my life back
So I school the fools about the fast track
I get static from the style of my technique
Profanity, the blatant way in which I
And now Ladies & Gentlemen, Lupe Fiasco
Filet mignon with my food stamps
Car cosigned by my mama
Medical card from Obama
Background check for
taking the cheese ain't no honey
Some niggas live without it
I'd rather jump off a building
I'm never tired I'm grinding
Up in the studio vibing
I feel
teenage hustlers
Street grinders, paper chasin scrapin busters
By keepin dust up noses and caine homes; pipes and cans
So they want they ride candy
dedicate a song
To the kids from Florida who didn't live long, whose families grieve
While the rest of the world gets on their phones
And their lives go
I want you to ask yourself one question
If you had twenty four hours to live, what would you do?
That's some deep shit right there, a lot
So you wanna be a rap superstar
And live large, a big house five cars the rent charged
Comin' up in the world don't trust nobody
Gotta look over your
to
Me motherfucker I
Know you ain't got no heart
You say you got your money right
I don't believe him
You say you live the street life
I don't believe
the violence, no lights, no cameras, just live action
Whether triggers are written, it's all real
Pencils are reinforced with steel, I got to live
Back in
known shit up in me habitat
So refrain from all that yak e t yak
Before i have to reach back and gladly smack
You in that mother fuckin mouth to teach
won’t take no defeat So I sweep up the streets then I take it back home
Smoke out the pound I be smoking on strong
I’m in my bag that’s where I belong
on these streets
I'm the almighty K, Compton
Rep it 'til my very death day
Let the reaper in his face
And recite every song from NWA
I pay homage for those
Compton
Rep it 'till my very death day
Let the reaper in his face
And recite every song from NWA
I pay homage for those great
Who paved the way
Wait, back
Ghetto boys
Die by twenty-five
Or catch a quick three-to-five
From a young white Canadian
Wannabe G’s perspective
Baby baby
Reminiscin’ back
To when
matters you ain't outraged with us
Cause black lives never really mattered you still lynch us
So that means from the start we were screwed
Born in a society
failed
Called you by surprise
Now the Devil in your eyes
Devil in your pie, see a coochee
Hit the broad
Stupid that you feelin' to live
In the crack
guns
Yeah, Yeah, It's like that and you don't stop
My nigga Busta Rhymes kicking from the bottom to the top
In the studio live, me and my niggas
acidic
Baby throw that ass back, and then
Clap them cheeks to this track, and then
Show you what I been packin in
These jeans god damn
Roll down ya street
Productions
Written By: Keith Keahey
Recorded and Mixed at: Street Legal Studios, North Charles Street, Maryland
Music Engineer: Mark Carey of Street Legal
drinking lean when Screw was popping
And his pops was live in Oakland way back when them feds was watching
Newton and them Malcom X adoptions
They kill our
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