Yea... Yea Yes Ima call this here... real rap Cause this rap is real... ya know? I hope you ain't too tired to cry, And I hope you know you ain't never too live to die. Listen... I grew up where them people called them people on us think we slangin, but we just got beepers on us Grindin' all day like we got sleepers on ya Livin' like the videos write a treatment on us Stuck in the hood like they put semen on us Ghetto birds still sh**tin on us, government still quittin' on us Lost a few homies and the grief still sittin on us So we got the names writtin on us, white folks still spittin' on us And them b**h a** police canines, teeth still grittin' on us But we smoke, ashes still gettin' on us All the b**hes still hittin' on us I remember well, Bezzy roll the L Bezzy aint here... where's Bezzy at?... Bezzy got k**ed And that was my n***a, I go way back wit my n***a But I know thats how it happened my n***a, sh** is much deeper than this rappin my n***a But now they all rappin, my n***as, so now I must make it happen So I'ma play the captain, sail boat flappin my n***a, No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my n***a Lil' Tiggas Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord saved him Last time we seen him was when Katrina hated Found his body like a month later, Rest in Peace boy He was a East boy, and so was Wesy West he was a good n***a, so I know he blessed And his daughter is a princess, this sh** is harder than a bench press But I'ma keep goin, and I swear I got a lump in my throat But I'ma keep on pumpin a float, So if I cry dont stop the beat, I feel like my heart just stopped the beat My n***a Lil' Derrick is quick to cop a key, either that or load the gat and go pop a G And because of that he's just a name in a rhyme of mine I pray for his family and his mama So much sh**, just sit on this mind of mine I think about it all the time I drink about it all the time I smoke back to back Cause if my thoughts got to me I'd be in this rap Or I'd be in the can, thank God I had dreams of being the man Yea And f** a man with a badge, cause he ain't sh** to a man on the edge The five o k**ed naughty good boy dead Man you woulda thought they k**ed corn bread Shot 'em up face down on the lawn Not to mention with his handcuffs on Not to mention they had plain clothes on And the complain goes on But dont nobody do nothin' bout it The jail house and the mourge is too f**in' crowded And haters at an all time high Everybody gotta hate us like a f**in iPod sh** and they tried to burn my phantom up, but i got my gun license I got my hammers up, im ready to shoot like a camera Stay still mothaf**a I'ma have to write my will this summer Cause if they don't k** me, I'ma k** this summer Yea And you can put that on my late father or my late grandmother Ms. Mercedes Carter Or my grandfather Larry Bosock The old man hustle 'till his heart stopped And all I no 'bout my real pops is that he had money No bank account, that brown paper bag money Yea he might hit me off wit a little brag money But the n***a still wouldn't be a dad for me But look how I turned out I hope he glad for me But thats why when I see him I act mad funny Cause he's a joke to me Don't message, don't call, don't talk to me It's just me and my mama how it's suppose to be And I make sure she paid like she rode for me And I know she gets all hope for me And I don't ever want to see her mope for me Hopefully, but truthfully there is a day that's due for me But we gone pray it's as far as the future sees You are listenin' to the future Wee-zy F. Baby Amen.