[LeAlan Jones]
"I remember one time I was over at my Auntie house
Spending the night. And we playin' Super Nintendo
I hear this lady: 'Yo, I heard you been looking for me, n*gga'
Then she just -- boom-boom-boom-boom-boom!
She let off about eight shots. Then I heard the other gun fire off
And we were just still there playing there, like nothin' happened
And then Vietnam, them people came back crazy. I (live) in Vietnam
So what you think I'ma be if I live in it and they just went and visited?"
[Verse 1]
Suckas can't survive without philosophyin'
When somebody dies you see why I'm not surprised
Had a plot to rise since I looked into the doctors eyes
Since I started drinking milk that was homogenized
I was strived with or without a pops to provide
Mom still cries cause she fell for a crock of lies
I try to teach her to fight her fears
I try to teach her to wipe her tear
Don't worry, sh*t gon' be a'ight this year
I'm at the top of my game, just watch for my name
Better off popping my brain than poppin' my chain
I claim king without dropping a thing
When they ask if I'm best I reminisce to the banging'
[LeAlan Jones]
When I was ten, I seen my first automatic weapon
A Glock Nine -- two clips
[Lloyd Newman]
I seen all kinds of guns -- .44, .22, (Techs!) Techs. I saw rifles
[Jones:] Mac 10, Mac 11
[Newman:] Living around here. You hear shooting all the time
[Verse 2]
Damn...
The drama's pitiful, little n*ggas is homicidical
Couple meals ago shorty was eating through his umbilical
Now he feel he unkillable
sh*t is all amazing
The wrong altercation will leave his ass with a long abrasion
I try to make my life the focal through rhyme
These n*ggas do vocal booth crime
I shot n*ggas multiple times
You sold a few dimes
But when you rapping, you the crack king
I sold it to whites when you thought it was just a black thing
I'm filled with this realness, rappers happen to lack it
I'm flabbergasted you got a platinum plaque for that whack sh*t
All the real gangsters, they're on their way to being dead or in jail
They don't make records to sell
[Lloyd Newman]
I asked my father, Chill, what his best memories of my mother are
['Chill']
Me and her have fun, putting our feet in the water together
We were sober then... but once we started gettin high..
Them memories gone... They gone
[Newman:] Why are you drinking?
[Chill:] I don't understand why I'm drinking
[Newman:] Do you think you're gonna stop?
[Chill:] Yeah, I'm going to rehab, and take care of myself
[Newman:] What do you drink?
[Chill:] I drink about two or three pints of wine a day
But it ain't helping me, ain't doin nothin' but killing me
Don't people understand it's destroying you?
[Newman:] If it's destroying you, why do you still drink?
Do you think you've been a good father?
[Chill:] Yes, I have, to the best capability I could
[Newman:] I have no further questions
[Verse 3]
The drama's pitiful, little n*ggas is homicidical
Couple meals ago shorty was eating through his umbilical
Now he feel he unkillable
sh*t is all amazing
The wrong altercation will leave his ass with a long abrasion
I try to make my life to focal through rhyme
These n*ggas do vocal booth crime
I shot n*ggas multiple times
You sold a few dimes
But when you rapping, you the crack king
I sold it to whites when you thought it was just a black thing
I'm filled with this realness, rappers happen to lack it
I'm flabbergasted you got a platinum plaque for that whack sh*t
All the real gangsters, they're on their way to being dead or in jail
They don't make records to sell
They don't make records to sell
They don't make records to sell
They don't make records to sell
They don't make records to sell
They don't make records to sell