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Pause |
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My man Holo told me the devil would control me |
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If I didn't have a hold of my soul and mind |
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'Cause now I think back on when I used to sell crack |
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To all the twigged-out bags makin' a grip in '89 |
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It's a... she made Philmo' clique |
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Eight years old niggers on the corner running bags |
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While I'm in the park smokin' weed & drinkin' port |
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It was the boys in the hood taggin' fucking... |
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But-a, that was the past, all that |
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I'm thinking of other ways of making my pockets fat |
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And mixing those beats on plastic |
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They like tricks, fool |
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You can't have it silly rabbit |
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Kimball |
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Got the past in the past and we're in the present tense |
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Looking out from where we are, it's amazing that we got this far |
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Like a... it hits, gonna follow you... |
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Like a son in your gun, turn the corner and the door is shut |
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Pause |
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Back when I was young in the hood carryin' a gun |
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It was an everyday thing 'cause you had to watch your back |
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Running from the 5-0, jumping fences high and low |
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For no fucking reason, just because my skin is black |
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Ain't a damn thing funny in the land of milk and honey |
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When... mess with me for their change |
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'Cause eight years later now my soul is feeling greater |
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But my mind is not at ease, 'cause the system's still the same |
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The best that I can do is go on |
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Exactly what my mom and pop told me, stay strong |
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I know I might seem like I'm a stranger from the moon |
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And now I got the key so I can step into the next room |
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Kimball |
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Our plan it happened there and then, no repent or second dance |
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Makes one thing... |
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That's the rub, ah that's the rub |
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Won't you turn the corner to the next room and the door is shut |
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That's the rub, a, that's the rub |
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Won't you turn the corner to the next room and the door's |
