You got a bunch of thugs with you, even now that's ready, trusting your judgement, quick to put it down they deadly, the hood love you, but behind your back they pray for the day, a bullet hit your heart and ambulances take you away, that aint love, it's hate, think of all the mothers at wakes, who's sons you've killed and you aint got a cut on your face. Unmarked police cars roam the streets hard, the heat is God, somebody tell these shorties reach for the stars, instead they tell em how to reach through the bars, holding a mirror, looking down a tier in jail making weapons to kill ya, weed smoke, three tokes nikka pour more henny.He sighs with eyes that's seen a war too many.
