Jim Jones - My Diary (feat. Denise Weeks) lyrics

Pardon the Syzzrup... [Jim Jones] Now we try corners Old folks try and warn us The cops try and swarm us Blocks hot like saunas Well f** it I'ma risk it Got a bunt n***a twist it Imma get drunk with my biscuit 5 cent cup, take a sip kid Imma product of the p-jects My teachers always told me that I'd prolly be a reject I came up by my lonely now I'm a product of that D-Set Two twelvin with my homie, he caught a homy of that d-wreck He said it had him zonin' left the body in bulding three steps The project now on fire every where you see the detects His high is coming down cause now he's nervous smokin bogeys And now he findin out that f**in murder was his co-D And this the sh** that happens all too often up in Harlem No sh** you smell a rat you better off him whats the problem In this business sellin crack we cook that raw sh** up to hard sh** And tell my fellas that and to my coffin steady mobbin' to my coffin Steady mobbin' [Chorus: Denise Weeks] Take a look into my eyes and you'll see all the pain the ghetto brings Take a journey through my soul and lets Roll through the streets of reality They tell me slow down I'm livin' life fast See they don't all wanna Ride with me I know it ain't right but this is my life It's just a piece of my diary yeah [Jim Jones] Now, we ran wreckless, no grown-ups to guide us So it's the man what you expect, I've grown-up to violence I had my eye up on the pushers, the ones that stay fly Fiends got high off the suga, you know that ain't riiight That sweet cane, some got buried to the street game My n***as only worried bout the j**elry and the street fame And what the b**hes thought of them, it's all about the money Well sh** I cop some Porsche or trucks 'Member I was hungry, I was whippin in the Corsica Hoopty muthaf**a, hoppin the double four's My pants droopy muthaf**as And pardon my grammar, my nana died '95 So I done left my heart wit my grandma I hid outside and played the park wit the hammer And I'm watchin for the narcs, they movin cars with antennas Thug and respect, for all my goons behind bars in the slammas To my G's on rikers, to all my three time lifers [Chorus] [Bridge - 2X] This is my life we die young cause we livin fast So I'ma let you read my diary I'ma let you read my dairy [Jim Jones] Now lets ride (to where), to Harlem, the Westside I show you blocks and murals, dawg where some of the best died (Like who...like who?) Like Porter and them I heard Po put the order on him, now that's more than a friend! But he stitched of course, now let's talk about Fritz the boss And he got rich off snort, they said 500 bricks was brought So in hindsight, it's a shorty who couldn't get a gist of his thought But if you grind right wit the snorpy, a whip could be bought Now think about po-9, if it caught me, how it get you in court But now the feds, they still tailin me, DA think he nailin me I had to turn in the goons come and post the bail for me Still in the Byrd Gang myself, you say Byrd Gang is wealth And all the liquor stores, man the Syzzurp on the shelf I rose from the dump you see, now it's Dipset, Byrd Gang the company [Chorus] [Bridge 2X]