|
(Intro) |
|
Yeah, you got Celly Cel back in this muthaf**ka |
|
Once again, you know |
|
'Bout to drop this soul playa shit on y'all |
|
You know, nothin' but that realness |
|
Can ya feel this though |
|
Yeah.. Gonna ride wit ya nigga 'cause it's goin' down |
|
They say break yo'self or make yo'self |
|
So I said f**k it, bought a glock so I could take myself |
|
Through all this soft shit a nigga face as a youngsta |
|
Loc'ed ass niggas made that hillside a monster |
|
OG's hoopin' at the school house & shootin' dice |
|
In & out the pen, real niggas might ? nice |
|
Made this hog get the brew |
|
Made me hit the weed |
|
Eatin' at the ho house |
|
Moms know a nigga kill |
|
Go to my room, sleep off my high, and hit the door |
|
Tellin' myself "I ain't smokin' weed no more" |
|
But you know |
|
Them lies as the days go by |
|
Me, Choo-Choo & Clyde smokin' dank 'til the sun rise |
|
Walk into the school house |
|
Franklin Junior |
|
Back when it was cool to kiss & tell and spread rumors |
|
Boxin' toe to toe & everybody in a circle |
|
Sockin' mutha-f**kas 'til they eyes turn purple |
|
Ain't no set trippin', no jumpin', it's just 1 on 1 |
|
Fools throwin' thangs to the end |
|
Back then, it was fun |
|
No gunshots |
|
No need to hit the floor |
|
But after shool |
|
The whole city woken up |
|
Let's hit the park fool |
|
To see a little league, a Babe Ruth baseball game |
|
Niggas was down there cuttin' up or throwin' thangs |
|
Chasin' 5 off for hot dogs & fries bitch |
|
But back then, you still couldn't tell a nigga shit |
|
1 - (Can't tell me shit) |
|
Bitch made niggas can't tell a nigga shit |
|
(They can't tell me shit) |
|
Skanlezz Azz Bytchez can't tell a nigga shit |
|
(Can't tell me shit) |
|
Punk police can't tell a nigga shit |
|
(They can't tell a nigga shit) |
|
F**k you bitch - you can't tell a nigga shit |
|
Repeat 1 |
|
Got a little older, now the park is a joke |
|
'Cause all the ball players out there slangin' dope |
|
Some of my niggas is on grimmies, but I didn't slip |
|
Ain't that a bitch, you can't tell a nigga shit |
|
So I mind my own, find my home |
|
Now I'm in the zone |
|
Behind Farmers in the alley, gettin' my money on |
|
Had 10 dollas & JB gave me the other 10 |
|
Bought a breakdown, now I'm Gone With The Wind |
|
Brakes with the ???, ounces & QP's |
|
The half ki's, now I'm sellin' weight to the G's |
|
Hit Oxford Street, spent a grip, now I'm ready to go |
|
To Hogan Hoctors, it be bitches at the talent show |
|
And for all & hoop games had hoes |
|
Hilail & Hogie, you know it was on fo' sho' |
|
Reece assists & Redge with the Tamahawk ? up |
|
Then the whole town, mobbin' down to the waterfront |
|
Niggas in Granadas, Cougars & Mustangs |
|
Stars & Volvos |
|
Nobody f**kin' with them ? thangs |
|
Me, G-Roc, JB & Lil' C-Mo |
|
Puffin' on indo |
|
Splittin' 4 double O Z's |
|
Young G's tryin' to live |
|
And when they shut the ship door, we goin' under the bridge |
|
Gettin' whip-lash from the brake gas mash and dip |
|
'Cause back then, you couldn't tell a nigga shit |
|
Repeat 1 |
|
Repeat 1 |
|
Made it to a G, but ain't no love in my city |
|
Now we set trippin', all these fools actin' shitty |
|
Niggas wanna reel me in, but didn't know |
|
When you f**kin' wit the big fish, you f**kin' wit a funeral |
|
No more toe to toe |
|
HK-44's |
|
Now what they know about the mutha f**kin' murda shows |
|
Strap on my right hand side, in the Bay area |
|
Shit is gettin' scarier |
|
Niggas are ??? |
|
F**k the bird, I'm the nigga bailin' ? early |
|
Trigga happy nigga wit a head fulla Shirlies, on |
|
Christian brothas in ??? |
|
Or drinkin' hurricanes wit my niggas in da click |
|
So deep, I can't call it |
|
Spend about a million dollas at the liquor store |
|
I'm just an alcoholic |
|
40, Water & Legit put me on the map |
|
Got my foot in the door, now I'm givin' up dank |
|
Sick wit his last job, my 9 to 5 |
|
The shit I used to dream about is how I survive |
|
Lifestyle of a mack |
|
Funk for life |
|
Some Heat 4 Yo' Azz |
|
Them Killa Kali niggas blast and smash |
|
Without a murda weapon or a witness |
|
Too many niggas in yo' car, risky business |
|
They turn snitches |
|
Break down & have the po-po's at yo' front door |
|
And all real niggas know |
|
Who rides sucka-free, on the solo |
|
When you empty the clip, they can't tell a nigga shit |
|
Repeat 1 |
|
Repeat 1 |