Lyrics:
growin
Adolescent -- with a childish mind
Your brain is small, plus it's hard to find
I need a microscope, to see a two-cent brain
That don't think, when
long (x2)
Baby bounce
Let me see you bounce to this
I get the mic technique
To help you use your ears
So you it by the radio
Hands on the dial
Soon Five
Now I'm the one walking this path let me explain how it is
Just because you don't understand it, it still is what it is
You gotta get up, grow up
a dollar to get in and twenty-five cents a beer
They play rock and roll music like it hasn't been rocked for years
Well she's sexy and seventeen .....
Man, what time is it bruh
Aye, cut the light off man
I'm trying to sleep
I'm bout to get up
I promise I'm bout to get up
Just give me 5 more minutes
cause crowd disorder
And glide like rollerblades 'cross your recorders
Soldier of fortune lost in the madness
Brandish your weapon or get dropped
that club with the DJ, he be on the radio all day
I get in cool with him even though he fake-assin toupee
I roll with ballers and thugs to make my
Slidin in Crown Victoria
Speed limit Five O
Rolling off 3.5
why she asked
Is my eyes low
Doing 25 down the block
Pull up real slow
Oh that was your
Two out of the five of these fuses are wired live, if I wanna survive I gotta
Find those detonators!
Broken and bleeding writer dash
slid on the jakes that day the got on me
Where I'm from, you get shot by your homie
Where I'm from, you can't hang, you don't know me
You gotta move
the city,
The nitty gritty, always together like titties.
By any chance that I do get burnt,
You better believe that I'm comin' back, just like a tax
It's all about the shoe prints your feet make
You gotta lay the blueprint
My two cents is worth way more than a couple pennies
And I can't think
that club with the DJ, he be on the radio all day
I get in cool with him even though he fake-assin toupee
I roll with ballers and thugs to make my
sell clothes
That chick know she bad
Tell by the Chloe bag she ain't no hoodrat
She ain't gotta prove that
I peep the McCartney's
Stella got her groove
gon' get it by any means
How unfortunate, January the sixth
Federal officers, raided our offices
Making it hard for us to eat, and breathe, and live
enough would ever say racism ended
I get winded by the weight of it all
'Cause everybody talkin' shit but don't know nothin' at all
Yeah, I thought I
Yeah, this the Shady Records mixtape (yeah)
Invasion, mixed by the Evil Genius (50 Cent, Lloyd Banks, Tony Yayo)
G-Unit
This rap shit plays
Don't nobody know
Hot days, cold nights, how we livin' on the fringes
Gotta it get mane
Sick with it engineering, too expensive fuck the yo
Rather
Dialed up his homie Murs on the telephone
Gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong
Brain freezing up, he don't know what to do
doubt
It's your cpr, pumpin' the groove in
Bass thumpin', get your heart movin'
Stop refusin' this rejuvin' new spin
I'm introducin' right now
Step
forget to fix a plate
Jesus fed 5,000
I'm just trying to get my servings straight
Everybody eat
We live by the words we say
Make the call it's a go fam
moving my guy
Eating up prizes, enemies behind
But I'm in a jam, on my last life
Gotta hunker down, or break another five
All the games are, beeping
Humpty Dumpty
And I made 5 cents of it and nobody love me
Ear catching production with no word I don't want no fucking lunatics to ask for instrumentals
on the bench
Mike's Hard Lemonade'll get you amateurs bent
Where I'm from they don't hesitate the cannon that spits
Stand by the wrong man and watch your
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