Cause ain't no fiends coming in between me an my dreams See what I mean black? I gets the paper")
Microphone thugs flip keys and shit Remember the 80's when niggas was acting crazy? The mean streets raised me I used to live dangerously Admist crack selling armed dangerous felons Plus murderers drug spot burglars Niggas doing anything to acquire that paper Live the life of crime but got saved by the rhyme Peace to all my niggas doing time on top of time Plus the ones gunned down in their prime I made it this far because of divine design Diamond chains the sun still outshines I get you drunk off my drink like that champaigne wine As long as there's breath left, I father the fatherless If shit was real Brooklyn would snatch that chain off your chest Don't fess, we know why you rock that vest Hard on records, but really pussy, check it I do this for me, and not the paper, strictly 100%
("Cause ain't no fiends coming in between me an my dreams See what I mean black? I gets the paper")
It started way before Super Rhymes Peace to mom dukes for enduring hard times God bless all the victims of my past life crimes I do this for the ghetto youth living like Good Times Flipping rhymes saved me from the obvious traps In '97 studio hustlers puch crack on wax And breaking backs, but faking jacks If it wasn't for contracts, they wouldn't bust caps So, destroy your people and collect huge stacks Fat axe, and platinum plaques Come bring it back, rewind it that old gangster bullshit Got the youth running around criminal minded Not a player hater, just don't chase the paper Got a little deal so some heads caught the vapors So stupid motherfuckers throw your guns in the air To all my niggas that ain't make it past their 19th year I do it for me, and not the paper, stictly 100%, nah mean?
("Cause ain't no fiends coming in between me an my dreams See what I mean black? I gets the paper")
Sinister plots, every week who got shot Spots like the Enterprise kept the neighborhood hot Niggas bugging out so some receive toe tags Resting up north with fag or sporting shit bags When I think back it's so sad All the niggas that I had, who'd ever figure that it'd get so bad? So I retreat with a pen and a pad Hide your chain when you ride the train For writing rhymes about automatic weapons I'd rather steer the youth in the right direction Drop a bomb, destroy the temple's ?sen section? Little girls already sexing Hard rock shorties is flexing But I stick to my lessons, no stress Cause if shit was real, Brooklyn would snatch that chain off your chest Don't fess, we know why you rock that vest Hard on records, but really pussy, check it I do this for me, and not the paper, strictly 100%, know what I'm saying?
("Cause ain't no fiends coming in between me an my dreams See what I mean black? I gets the paperTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
