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You got a bag full of paint, a head full of brain |
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No snow, no rain, ain't got no complaint |
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Like you high on that Krylon running through your veins |
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You look like a war vet staring at them trains |
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It's like you zen the **** out |
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Sittin in the bushes, letting all the bugs out |
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One smoke one beer, when the coast is clear you disappear until your zone stoned on the fear |
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Looking at scarred box cars |
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Focusing and notice one of the ones most fit |
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Its like that one there, has got your name all over it |
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So that one there, is getting your name all over it |
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Pull a can of sky blue for the outline |
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Sky for the limits, blue for the down time |
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Nerves at blast, disturbing the masses of rats with these thin tips and fat caps |
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Thinking bout your little brother, cause he been trying hit the yard with you all summer |
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It's a good thing that you didn't bring him along |
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Cause that's when you saw the flashlights singing this song like |
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[Chorus (2X):] |
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Run, run, run these yards |
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Run, run, run don't get caught |
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Run, run, run every piece understood |
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(I want to tell him you were good on the foot now) |
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Run, run, run these yards |
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Run, run, run don't get caught |
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Run, run, run every piece understood |
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(Better believe you ran as fast as you could) |
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It wasn't fast enough, a simple catch |
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Cornered in the parking lot hiding in the trash |
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You heard the footsteps, heart beating hard |
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Are you gonna have to fight with a trainyard guard? |
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You stepped out on some, yup let's start this |
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Puffin out your chest like you wasn't in the garbage |
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And that's when the universe stopped |
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Cause your looking straight at a uniformed officer |
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What you think, should you run, run |
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And take a chance at getting some from his stunt gun |
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That ain't one on one, plus he look kinda young |
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The type that might beat your ass just for fun, huh |
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So tell me what the **** are you supposed to do |
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Already thinking about the cuffs holding you |
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Already got a few cases over you |
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But then the police man says, no it's cool |
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What, where's the punch line, can't call it |
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Too many paint fumes, must've lost it |
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He handed you your bag and said here, I think you dropped this |
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Cause this cop grew up on hip hop |
|
[Chorus (2X):] |
|
Run, run, run these yards |
|
Run, run, run don't get caught |
|
Run, run, run every piece understood |
|
(It all depends on where the pieces are put) |
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Run, run, run these yards |
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Run, run, run don't get caught |
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Run, run, run every piece understood |
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(Now do your thing and make the neighborhood look good) |
