The saga begins I'm a reflection of the drama within the ghetto I live in, niggas Moms on crack, Pops just disappeared the first time you get locked up who really cares? I see a snotty nosed kid with his sneakers on backwards sleepin' 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 are on the run with huge rewards Mothers watch Son's walk through the doors 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 or friends, wanna drink brew and beef about whose sale it is now she's gettin' hungry, she smells 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 seek keeps bloomin' uneffected 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 penetentiary 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 hair morgue life is deep, we all just tryin' to eat rap's a mental narcotic, I supply the streets