[Verse 1] At night time all I do is pray and cry homie Cause everytime I call home somebody dyin' on me And every time I look around somebody lyin' on me Mr. Cheney Mr. Ridge steady spyin' on me I got one foot in the grave one foot in the gutter One foot on the camera lens one foot on the shutter I'm trying to stop time so I can breathe, man I'm grindin Play record low pause fast forward rewindin The truth is the light, but absolutely blindin And niggas feel the pain on they brain when you remind them About them project walls that we confined in About them six by eight cells we linin' Bricks on consignment A nigga lost his iron and club behind the diamond The cops hit him with a club He swung back they hit him with a slug Then the judge hit him with a dub His baby mama threw up The saga continues...
[Verse 2] I was born to clash with the fake Wrestle with Jake Lay real low in the grass with the snakes Torment them with the fire when they raise they head And I'm sorta just like elijah cause I raise they dead After they stink and rot for days in the grave that I rose from Deport the dead part of the game then the flows come Flood the industry with three quarters of life I'm takin this world of Sa-tan to war with a mic Please God back me as I swing the sword of the Christ Wavy hair fiery eyes Not entirely wise Provoking these devils go to war with they squad After war show them to the after party with God I stroll the blocks with a dope man bop I'm high caliber My team shine supreme we gleam on you amateurs I stay big sportin fedoras Charcoal braid tweed sport coat jeans and diadoras
[Verse 3] Ya'll niggas ain't really really ready for Muhammad because I'm hungry Grimey and grungy I want ya mind fuck the money Don't get me wrong, I want cream and all that But if that's your only objective in rap you all wack I make the untrue niggas head sweat like skull caps Hall back launchin a bolo makin they skull crack Singin them dull raps Like that was hot shit Shit, I was sayin that back in the 80s When niggas was rockin emblems off the back of Mercedes On rope chains Back when niggas thought of cookin rocks outta cocaine I was hot then, a little poor nigga spittin the vicious Flavor delicious poetic swift shit I regulate in the ring like P. Whitaker One rhyme get rid a ya I won't even consider ya for battle You schools on speed I'm full throttle Used to be in clubs tossing chairs and cracked bottles Ruckus and ra ra, made my rhymes mantequilla Livin leyenda, numer un contenda Never let a day slip by without agenda That's just a little due from Farrakhan to remember So, que te pasa? Representando por la raza Niggas wanna step but they legs too short to salsa You got courage I'll blast it out ya Seriously doubt ya Spit til ya blueprint is ripped, then re-route ya FuckerTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
