yo mega man what s the deal son yo son whattup yo i m just sittin here zonin out thinkin about how life is yo life s general for us you know how we livin out here you know things we goin through man why we gotta go through this life you know life is an interlude to death son you ever thought about that word son the saga begins i m a reflection of the drama within the ghetto i live in nigga s moms on crack pops just disappeared the first time you get locked up who really cares i see a little snotty nosed kid with his sneakers on backwards sleep on a mattress when i go to make a sale at times i wonder are we goin straight to hell or does god realize we re tryin to make it as well my sleep is interrupted by food on the stove not gun shots we re immune to those some of my friends first bids are two to fours others on the run with huge rewards mothers watch sons walk through the door for the last time till they go view at the morgue life is deep we all just tryin to eat rap s a mental narcotic i supply the streets look at my life you see white coke and black roses and tears shed for passed soldiers we all walk in a path chosen from the cradle till the casket s lowered i still got the black ski mask to throw on but i can get richer off the tracks i flow on i d be lyin if i said i wasn t hustlin no more look at my life life ain t fair shorty pregnant with nowhere to live sleepin in a crackhouse cause she don t got no relatives her friends wanna drink brew and beef about whose sale it is now she s gettin hungry she smell the marijuana scent i paint a picture vividly as if picasso s spirit entered me starin at the heavens secluded in a tinted jeep i m sick of hearin eulogies i realize my nigga blue is a reminder of my past like greek ruins yet his seed keeps bloomin unaffected by police intrusions or street illusions we were consumed wit i ve even grown away from people i grew wit i mean we cool but i don t need to bullshit my mood could switch easily from smooth to ruthless we ain t built the same so mind games are useless times change like the climate i change check the forecast i reign  live niggas i rep for deceased i pour moet for those incarcerated my heart is wit y all i know at times it gets hard behind penitentiary bars then once free you realize you re mentally scarred if not physically if subjected to correctional facilities prepare for your future to the best of your ability prosper otherwise you ve been conquered blowin up your mother s phone so she can send you a box son i sit inside my residence and thank god i m blessed with this poetical gift evident in every ghetto like graffiti and crack sales and cabs that won t stop for black males undercovers givin younger brothers bad stares fours clap dogs crap in the grass here you love to hear the story son the saga began here mc s are fictitious yet the actual facts here like the bible said jesus had napped hair1
['alternative hip hop', 'boom bap', 'east coast hip hop', 'gangster rap', 'hardcore hip hop', 'hip hop', 'queens hip hop']