(I ain't gotta lie to kick it, or lounge)
(Since everywhere I go is trouble-infested)
(I ain't gotta lie to kick it, or lounge)
(I talks bad, way about a silly tramp b**h)
(I ain't gotta lie to kick it, or lounge)
(Since everywhere I go is trouble-infested)
(I ain't gotta lie to kick it, or lounge)
(I talks bad, way about a silly tramp b**h) --] Rube
[ VERSE 1: Rube ]
Congratulations for your patience, folks
Young Rube comin through with the trey gold spokes
I need yokes on a b**h I wanna get with
I need a old school mob with a shift kit
Left, right, head bobbin, mob type of chaos
All you punks talkin jeal', tear the sh** way off
Cause I ain't with the funny style charades
I rather hit 'em doggy while I'm tuggin dookie braids
I'm talkin bad muthaf**er with the sick rappin
I'm talkin slang from the turf and not the pig latin
My pops told me when I was at the AJ
Never become a suspect of a date rape
If she don't want ya you don't need her
You don't buy her clothes, you don't feed her
Never would I cross over for applause
Never would I save a hoe for the drawers
"Can't we all get along" was the question
That they shot to the blacks and the Mexicans
Answer came back like this, potna, "Eat a dick"
sh** is f**ed up and you too blind to see a trick
(I got no words for the s**er bu*ts, the tricks, the clowns)
(And I ain't trippin, my shoes is tied)
(I got no words for the s**er bu*ts, the tricks, the clowns)
(Cause muthaf**ers mo' dirty than a sh** stain)
(I got no words for the s**er bu*ts, the tricks, the clowns)
(And I ain't trippin, my shoes is tied)
(I got no words for the s**er bu*ts, the tricks, the clowns)
(Cause muthaf**ers mo' dirty than a sh** stain) --] Beesh
[ VERSE 2: Beesh ]
Crack my cranium, check what's inside
I got a whole lot of things on my mind
Feelin like a bloodclot
I'm stuck in a state, weary of the jack move
I couldn't stand the rock, I stay hip to the black groove
Playa pimpin sh**tin for the swingers, man
House parties bunk, gettin out of hand
Young buck strivin for the co*kola
15 and couldn't wait till I was older
At that point didn't think about carryin
A fat gat, all my potnas, they be buried in
And now I'm my twenties and I'm like f**
I got the rabbit's foot searchin for the right luck
And house parties shut down before they get started
A young fool had to go and try to get retarted
That's how it goes in the nine-o, I can't deny it
I'm out to get mine, pockets never on a diet
Black on black and brown on brown
Crime in the town, player haters and the co*k hounds
( ? ) old school left in the old days
Before the crack, before the AIDS, before the ( ? )
(I gaffle on the baggy when I'm jigga-jigga-limpin)
(Funk Slave soldier in the paint gettin heated)
(I gaffle on the baggy when I'm jigga-jigga-limpin)
(The gut runna k**a, call me beaver hunter)
(I gaffle on the baggy when I'm jigga-jigga-limpin)
(Funk Slave soldier in the paint gettin heated)
(I gaffle on the baggy when I'm jigga-jigga-limpin)
(The gut runna k**a, call me beaver hunter) --] Chezski
[ VERSE 3: Chezski ]
And really when you think about the pain stroke
Busy tryina do for me and all my kinfolk
I hate it when I'm lookin at my po' father
Strugglin to keep his head above the risin water
But still he's gotta push in the cold wind
Take a look up at his life till it soaks in
And promise to myself when I'm holdin fat
I'ma break him off a chunk and give some love back
Get it 'fore they do is how the game's played
I try to follow rules and mama Kool-Aid
Then again I'm lookin up for the steep hill
My people first, and need a nother refill
And brothers on the search for the good job
Tired of bein labelled as an old slob
But never does he find what he look fo'
A lotta jobs for the rich and none for the po'
That's why I'm dippin low with a loose screw
And when it comes to this it ain't sh** new
Real to the say and tell it all straight
Never trippin off the fools that wanna raise hate