them wrong They paid my bills, I'm on your heels I'm for real, my shoes is long to feed my son I will leave you leakin' in the street I will heat you
I made it up out the hood and I ain't comin back Unless I'm brangin Lil' Boss to get a hundred sack Nigga I'm gon' do what I'm gon' do and then get
crew lethally. We are the word on the street, yet sworn to secrecy. Basements, nightclubs, fight clubs, alleyways, Our people are well prepared, there
your lungs The street and the slums, the weekend is done The local class always show you what [?] is become The seasons are done, and reasons are none People
I'm nice wit metaphors but these are similes Street ministry, my poetry's a penitentiary, track is visitation Sentences is life, I'm like chief up in
they came, deportion Make'm forefeit and I'm porshin 600 horses 911, somebody call'em Kemba Walker crossem over, somebody fallin Jump back, I hit the shot, somebody ballin I'm
brother, wit Allah Best place he could be [Verse 3] I could see you when I'm all alone ( I see you) So I guess I'm not all alone, I know my little nigga
more I said there's my brother, wit Allah Best place he could be I could see you when I'm all alone (I see you) So I guess, I'm not all alone, I know
fallen angel got to pray by myself 'cause I'm out of angle I aint facin the east, tell the brothers I was shakin the beast had the nine and the eight in the streets
on the block, but chilled in the lab My project was to blow you up and break you off a slab People are strange, and people are bad But the gift of gabrier
Yo, Frost, kick it to these people for real you know what I'm saying? Time, sifts through the hourglass, through night and day And I watch as the games people
stick with me like felonies I'm deep like my sleep, if I'm sleeping please don't wake me 'cause I'd rather dream my life away and let the angels take
can't cry 'Cause it's on now, I'm just a nigga on his own now Livin' life Thug style, so I can't smile Writin' to my peoples when they ask for pictures
trees No cops rollin' by, no policemen, no homicide No chalk on the streets No reason for nobody's mama to cry See I'm a good guy, I'm tryin' to stick
, man entourage And when we get things started, I'm the hardest artist Styles I flips retarded Family who can handle this From Illtown to S.E. to Los Angeles
me who do i compete with I'm on my elite shit, you can tell im real cuz i'm gettin hood love And i aint even talkin street shit Young angel, young lie
9ne I'm crime mind In my prime I'm mixing One fifty-one With malibu rum And pineapple juice Among all my angels And wicked ones We're the party people
comin for me because of all the shit that i did in the past was bad to people mad and evil if your the A.O.D im sad to meet you angel of death when i