[Black Child]
In a world that's ice cold, blacks die slowly
Cats snatch rollies, gats'll leave you holy
My momma always told me the streetz will slow me down
Daddy never showed me how the heat will hold me down
So now I rob and steal,
spit shyt you feel, wit a clique that kills
Yea my shyt's that real, I hustle hard all my life
Ran the streetz all night
My wife alwayz said everything was gonna be aight
And she was right, and that's one reason why I love her
But everything she said went in one ear and out the other
Word to mother, look at it from a thug point of view
When the kids need clothes, what a thug gon do?
Hit the streetz and hustle, pick up the heat and bust you
I'm tryin to eat like Russel
Murda is my hustle But you keep chasin yestarday, you gon miss tomorow
It's murda motherfukker we don't beg or borrow
We take shyt, fukk you and yo fake bytch, when the eight (.8mm) spit
You could feel the hatred, taste it
You high right now, you ain't ready to die right now
The .45 will calm you down, you under trauma now
It's drama how a child will shut shyt down
Kill a nikka for the fukk of it I get you touched for chips
fukk that shyt, fukk the whip, and fukk you bytch
YOU CAN JUST SUCK MY dikk
