Let U Tell It

(I ain't gotta lie to kick it, or lounge) (Since everywhere I go is trouble-infested) (I ain't gotta lie to kick it, or lounge) (I talks bad, way about a silly tramp bitch) (I ain't gotta lie to kick it, or lounge) (Since everywhere I go is trouble-infested) (I ain't gotta lie to kick it, or lounge) (I talks bad, way about a silly tramp bitch) --> Rube [ VERSE 1: Rube ] Congratulations for your patience, folks Young Rube comin through with the trey gold spokes I need yokes on a bitch I want to get with I need a old school mob with a shift kit Left, right, head bobbin, mob type of chaos All you punks talkin jeal', tear the shit way off Cause I ain't with the funny style charades I rather hit 'em doggy while I'm tuggin dookie braids I'm talkin bad muthafucker with the sick rappin I'm talkin slang from the turf and not the pig latin My pops told me when I was at the AJ Never become a suspect of a date rape If she don't want ya you don't need her You don't buy her clothes, you don't feed her Never would I cross over for applause Never would I save a hoe for the drawers "Can't we all get along" was the question That they shot to the blacks and the Mexicans Answer came back like this, potna, "Eat a dick" Shit is fucked up and you too blind to see a trick (I got no words for the sucker butts, the tricks, the clowns) (And I ain't trippin, my shoes is tied) (I got no words for the sucker butts, the tricks, the clowns) (Cause muthafuckers mo' dirty than a shit stain) (I got no words for the sucker butts, the tricks, the clowns) (And I ain't trippin, my shoes is tied) (I got no words for the sucker butts, the tricks, the clowns) (Cause muthafuckers mo' dirty than a shit stain) --> Beesh [ VERSE 2: Beesh ] Crack my cranium, check what's inside I got a whole lot of things on my mind Feelin like a bloodclot I'm stuck in a state, weary of the jack move I couldn't stand the rock, I stay hip to the black groove Playa pimpin shittin for the swingers, man House parties bunk, gettin out of hand Young buck strivin for the cockola 15 and couldn't wait till I was older At that point didn't think about carryin A fat gat, all my potnas, they be buried in And now I'm my twenties and I'm like fuck I got the rabbit's foot searchin for the right luck And house parties shut down before they get started A young fool had to go and try to get retarted That's how it goes in the nine-o, I can't deny it I'm out to get mine, pockets never on a diet Black on black and brown on brown Crime in the town, player haters and the cock hounds ( ? ) old school left in the old days Before the crack, before the AIDS, before the ( ? ) (I gaffle on the baggy when I'm jigga-jigga-limpin) (Funk Slave soldier in the paint gettin heated) (I gaffle on the baggy when I'm jigga-jigga-limpin) (The gut runna killa, call me beaver hunter) (I gaffle on the baggy when I'm jigga-jigga-limpin) (Funk Slave soldier in the paint gettin heated) (I gaffle on the baggy when I'm jigga-jigga-limpin) (The gut runna killa, call me beaver hunter) --> Chezski [ VERSE 3: Chezski ] And really when you think about the pain stroke Busy tryina do for me and all my kinfolk I hate it when I'm lookin at my po' father Strugglin to keep his head above the risin water But still he's gotta push in the cold wind Take a look up at his life till it soaks in And promise to myself when I'm holdin fat I'ma break him off a chunk and give some love back Get it 'fore they do is how the game's played I try to follow rules and mama cool-Aid Then again I'm lookin up for the steep hill My people first, and need a nother refill And brothers on the search for the good job Tired of bein labelled as an old slob But never does he find what he look fo' A lotta jobs for the rich and none for the po' That's why I'm dippin low with a loose screw And when it comes to this it ain't shit new Real to the say and tell it all straight Never trippin off the fools that want to raise hate