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Artist: Scarface f/ |
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When I was in the sixth grade, these niggas was bitch made |
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They was thinking science, |
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I was thinking get paid |
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I always kept a plan to get doe |
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Like selling the same shit |
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I use to steal from outta stop-n-go |
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I use to run a paper route |
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But that ain't pay me enough, |
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I was still on the bus |
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My momma would always tell me don't you rush to get old |
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But rarely did |
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I listen to the shit |
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I was told |
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I was a ghetto boy long before the rap group existed |
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I use to take my lunch money and pitch it |
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I stayed on suspension, |
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I ain't fuckin' with school |
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Truant officers be chasin' me, |
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I'd give 'em the blues |
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Hit the pipes off of |
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Roomer just to pass the time |
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Shoot the shit and walk to |
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Shamrock, stole me a wine |
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Get smashed and hit the bus stop when school let out |
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Get off at tina house and bust that cot |
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Walk up outta |
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Ridgemont smelling like fish in my pocket |
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Then back to the southside walking home from |
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WatkinsI stopped to see the homies off of |
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Huckala street |
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All you game in the front yard bumpin' this beat[Chorus: Z-Ro] |
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Ever since |
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I could remember |
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I been on my grind, |
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All the time |
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Nothing but paper and pussy and the finer things on my mind |
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I had to Shine |
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By any means necessary |
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I had to go out and get it |
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And come back wit it, thug life |
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I was wit it |
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My balls and my word told a nigga that the world was mine |
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That's why |
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I stay on the grind[Verse 2] |
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I remember when the dope game started up, serving the hypes |
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I was seeing more doe than |
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I ever seen in my life |
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I was rocking up eightballs and knowing the shake |
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Kept a thousand in my pocket, twenty more in the safe |
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I had my grandmother guessing how |
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I got that shit' |
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Cause every other day |
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I had to buy new kicks |
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Older cats steppin' to me as if |
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I was the man |
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Getting telephone calls from my uncle's friends |
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I'm sixteen years old, with game so throwed |
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I was parking niggas frontin' me and fucking they hoes |
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Eventually |
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I moved out, rented a house |
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I'm stretching the dope, cuttin' seventeen from an ounce |
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We cop ya pots fulla spray, |
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I'm moving big weight |
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But that was back in the days, nobody thought about a dope case |
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It's all mapped out, get in get out |
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They giving mutha fuckas ten years for each rock |
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It's fucked ain't it, but |
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I'm lookin' at the picture they done painted |
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They hanging all these niggas who's careers was dope gamin' |
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The crack epidemic had you locked if you was in it |
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And even if you stepped out with bread you couldn't spend it |
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In the beginning niggas had they whole hoods flooded |
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Wit that Antonio |
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Montana disease like "fuck it" |
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And drug wars just another day in the life |
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You fucked over me, |
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I fucked you, done gave me the right[Chorus][Verse 3] |
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I'm up and down |
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I-10, with a car full of hens |
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Finta check my ends, finta get this |
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BenzStopped short of my drop spot by red lights flashing |
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I'm dirty, and if he wants to search |
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I'ma blast him |
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I roll the windows down so |
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I can show him my hands |
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Wouldn't you know, the cop done pulled me over my man |
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I got a brand new plan take this shit to the line |
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Stop an Sony's and give it back |
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I'll give you a dime |
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With ten thousand you can go to work for a week |
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Take some time off to think, |
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I'll even throw in a key |
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He stopped at the mo', |
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I gave him the doe |
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Checked in my room then whooped out the scale and the blow |
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There's a knock at the door, |
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I grabbed the four-four |
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It was the homeboy who set me up down on the floor[Chorus] |
