Verse 1
Would you clean up all the jars for glasses?
And Tupperware sauces for ashes
Brown paper bag pistachios in my hood
Some things I wouldn't change even if I could
In the ghetto, heavy niggas trying to make a demo
And ruin the rules the only top kids find limo
Cops come around often like ice cream trucks
Some niggas they wear Jordans, some dudes wear chubs
Stand on the corner just to make a few quick bucks
In the ghetto, gangstas don't get star struck
Every night you hear a few guns bust
And the palm springs, from the news blending with the saw-flings my eyes think murder
And hood brats catching diseases
Gadgets little kids never heard of
Every niggas out here boosting
This thing's a tree driving nigga crazy, don't believe acts

Chorus (x2)
Nigga it's murder (If you ever from me)
Murder (Some new wanna see)
I suggest your mouth quit running cuz them boys from the DF coming

Verse 2
I was born in the ghetto heavy metal when the Austin Projects looking that Eazy-E poster
50 Cent pick boost, 50 Cent ices, my day fucked up
Cool laid on my white tee, I feel little easy, I lost my Pops
So I think twice when I'm squeezing off them shots
Shotgun more burks, ripping nigga sleaze off
I don't fight niggas, I just wanna squeeze off 45 on me
Caught off Roy-out shoes, blue footage crip burking knee for the py-rule
Hard-top shotus, brand new white tee, I'm a pimpin' to gangsta like motherfucking light tee

Back to Chorus (x2)

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