Revolution

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Max B

Charles Wingate (born May 21, 1978), better known as Max B, is an American rapper from Harlem, New York City, New York. In 2009, Max B began serving a 75-year prison sentence for charges of conspiracy to armed robbery, kidnapping, aggravated assault, and murder. more »

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It's the revolution, baby
Oh, they televising this shit right now
(It's my boy Masar on the beat)
(DJ Elyes)

Life in the pen', never that
They came back for the base, we came with the better crack
I came to provide the people better tracks
The narratives I engage, twenty years in the cage
Twenty years as a slave, ni-ni-nigga please
Hang me from bigger trees
Play me, my trigger squeeze
Ecstasy liquor chase, pay me or get the ease
Watching him plead his case, spray 'em or get the cheese
How could you f*ck with niggas that been from the jump?
I got a drawer full of ammo, I got a sawed off pump
I got my niggas, I activate 'em, they come with a phone call
Bust at the opposition, he die, it's his own fault
Gambled your life, nigga, you reap what you sow
They send some killers to come and get me, I reach for the four
I signal left in the V like they ain't heard of the Don yet
Connections is overseas, murderous contacts
If it's a genie in the bottle, then she better be a model
Got a dollar to my name, I'ma bet it on the lotto
We was playing innocent, now we playing in the wind
'Cause if I could do it over, I'ma do this shit again
My nigga, please, I'll trade you my bitches for some weed (Come on)
Sixty of some liquor, my music is a disease
Nigga, freeze, put your hands where I can see
They were fed the wrong description and it wasn't even me

I go soft, I go hard, take a look at all my scars
Frederick Douglas, Adam Clayton, Malcolm X Boulevard
I ain't never pull the trigger, sipping brown sugar liquor
Even mama call me Bigga, make my money, say it, nigga
All the women, all the weed
Watermelon spitting seeds
And these bitches not my children, feel neglected 
Bowing down, spit the grit
In my town, this the shit
This a gift
Yeah, this a gift
Yeah, this a hit

Now every single time that the police come for a nigga
I gotta run and take cover, they tryna gun for a nigga
They wanna kill us in cold blood, leave us in bloody streets
The prophecy I fulfill top of the money reach
Choppers, we gon' conceal, pockets is on E
And every time I drop, I'm the hottest thing on the streets (Hottest thing, baby)
We was looting, niggas tried
And I had a of hell of a team, but a couple niggas died
And we was in no Gucci stores, couple niggas buy it
Some hammers and DVDs, couple of 'em fried
The witnesses on the stand, couple of 'em lied
They want me to take a plea, some pull up and hide
The Bentley pull up and swerve, some pull up and glide
She f*ck with them BNBs, I look at the sky
Them fuckers think could see me, I pull out the nine
Leave them fuckers nice and dreamy and send 'em up to die

I go soft, I go hard, take a look at all my scars
Frederick Douglas, Adam Clayton, Malcolm X Boulevard
I ain't never pull the trigger, sipping brown sugar liquor
Even mama call me Bigga, make my money, say it, nigga
All the women, all the weed
Watermelon spitting seeds
And these bitches not my children, feel neglected 
Bowing down, spit the grit
In my town, this the shit
This a gift
Yeah, this a gift
Yeah, this a hit

I don't know about all that shit
This ain't no hit
Nigga, this for the streets
For your motherfucking mind
Boss Don, Negro Spirituals
Gotta love it, oww

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