Lyrics:
Robbin' old folk, we don't need no more of that
Just a 70s baby, early 80s child
Reminiscin' 'bout the days in the brick backyard
Just a 70s baby,
the pulpit
Stressin' to heaven, seemed like I was born by mistake
While the races dominate, got me victim to the Legislate'
I'm playin' for kicks, hustle
Trails the no home leave behind them
"God Bless You" signs on a street corner lamp post
Maybe a vet of his own alley way
An "Ain't drunk yet wanna
Unless
You one of my folks or else get toast
I turn it easy on you niggas, somebody smoked
Don't fuck around with a real nigga loc
"Cause I've got"
by Ms. Dot 'partment
Ay, ay Bubba Sparxx shoot we down to the spot
Them young G's up on that corner, done made the porch hot
Them folk say they
the pulpit
Stressin' to help me, seemed like I was born by mistake
While the races dominate, got me victim to the Legislate'
I'm playin' for kicks, hustle
Robbin' old folk, we don't need no more of that
Just a 70s baby, early 80s child
Reminiscin' 'bout the days in the brick backyard
Just a 70s baby,
ain't Mavoe
I'm just a survivor
Been gone from home so long some folks thank that I died
It's cool and If I don't get rich I'm thankful that I alive
Being a boy of colors
He asked some hard questions
He asked the ones I never asked
At six years old, I took him to the beach with a friend
A blue sky
Oh, I hate watching my folks grow old
There's bats in the attic
You say I'm dramatic
But maybe I learned it from you
I'll run though it's snowing
It's
Road you gotta take me home
I drive by the homeless sleeping on a cold dark street
Like bodies in an open grave
Underneath the broken old neon sign
is a lawyer for the ACLU
With a boyfriend who's a folk singin' socialistic Jew
They don't come home to see her anymore because they think that she's
back
Ritchie never came home
Their folks got a letter in the mail
They got a letter in the mail . . .
I ain't gonna die for standard oil
I.b.m. . . . I
I have to go back to congress and they vote on me again,
and by that time you're so old
By that time it's very unlikely that you'll become a law.
thang
Quick to cook and breakin' cane
Straight runnin' thangs around the way
Havin' his money man
A rider from the hood understood by many sets
With
that's life so enough about him
Same old shite with the tubes on a strike,
And I cant pedal in cos they teefed my bike
Again, suppose I got myself to blame
Free and The Contrary Farmer
A Home in The Country, and Bound For Glory
Irish Folk Tales as told by Yeats
A Country Year, At Nature's Pace
The Grapes
still put ya on the injured list
Still efficient we mobb deep so infamous
Isn't it interesting? We get belittled like middlemen
By other folks who didn't
On solid ground
Confrontation everywhere
You turn your head
With no foundation
You'll be easily led
By all the wrong folks
For all the wrong reasons
Leave
tough luck
But I say fuck 'em and go for broke
'Cause in a toe to toe then you totally own 'em
I'd rather die happy and broke in an old folks home
Than
iron cold
Shaped by the great smiths of old
Gear of war and treasures forged from ore
Cursed with the death of a lord
Mass destruction in the War
Neighborhood hood, gully
Roll through 'cause it's cool to boost the spirit
For the folks young an' old an' infants can hear it
Love is knowin' the rap game is
fuckin' snap in a minute bitch
I'm a motherfucking omen, I bow down to no man
Split a nigga open, killing folks compulsive
A soldier with a motive,
Steady creepin, old folks peepin
It's cold in the chest, pass the heart smokin cess
Jackers peep the game I got nuts for the same
I want to kick
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