Lyrics:
life don't matter
Who invited Uncle Sam
He's drunk again and making a scene
It's creepier in the back of his van
So who invited this cunt
A tale hand
makin' music on the side
I confide in the page, weed smoke fill the air, like Sage
Thirty-two my age, I spot a couple grays
Feel my blood pressure raise
On the West Coast countin' blues
But I'm whoopin' with them 'Rus (suwoo, yeah)
In my neighborhood, you was either five or six, you had to choose
And folks
on two-five
Or your big brother put you on like surprise
Hearing my hood described
So vivid you could see it by closing your eyes
Maybe it was the age
eighty-five well
When his stash slow, he be crazy
Say he by his moms, hit her on her payday
Junior high school dropout, teachers never cared
They was paid just
This music making heights oh
Nobody wanna take me on
She call me over take it off
Make her boy wanna take his life
End it all with a fuckin' knife
End it
Out in the West Texas town of El Paso
I fell in love with a Mexican girl.
Night-time would find me in Rosa's cantina;
Music would play and Felina
this girl walked up she said hi my name is Sheila
I responded by saying hello
she paid for my drink and then said let's go
20 minutes later things were
Well you get you entertainment
Through a corporate plan
Via 5 young athletes in a dancing band
Who are trained to act moronically
And smile on demand
to buy your zip
And hope one day it flourish to a kilo, track record of a hustler
Rather records on the needle, making music
Clocking fast bank like
watching roy jones in round one
He froze put his to the t.v. about an inch close
Move outa the way nigga what the fuck the matter with you, you blind
He
stripped
And torn down by his black brothers and sisters
That were uneducated and that did not know
And he was stripped
And he was torn down by his
Yea G-Unit
I think I gotta have it
Its keeps pullin' me in like a magnet
Going with this kinda music puts me right back on the block, block
Its
your Glock burst
They had the chains on, son, hit the lock first
We busted in, the cop jerked, Jungle popped one in his shirt
I grabbed the bitch by
how my brother died
How they rap when they making up their own words
Forget a G note, I've been making up my own worth
Davy Jones got his boat worked
years old. My father played music.
My mother played music. My five brothers played music, and I had two
sisters played music. And I just bought
the game,
Pioneering pop, etched in history with his name.
Started with the Jackson 5, a young star in the making,
With every beat, every move, the world was
destiny
Do you like to party? (yeh, yeh, yeh)
Do you want to settle down? (no, no, no)
Do you like my kind of music? (yeh, yeh, yeh)
Do you want
a widow
Did not you know that my styles are top-dollar?
The Five-Foot Assassin knocking fleas off his collar
Hip-hop scholar since being knee-high
Quick to pop off let a couple shots off
Leave 'em bleeding out with his shoes & his socks off
War dancing I ain't trying to make it rain though
Whoa, wish this was a Metallica concert
I wish that it was music when
They walk in the building
Someone ring the alarm
We sound like rock and roll
We
uptown
60 dollars plus toll is the cab fee
Wintertime bubble goose, goose, clouds of smoke
Music blastin' and the Arab V blunted
Whip smelling like fish
of a disappointment
In an afterbirth of sin
Wasted years of denial
Too much pride and the fear of man.
[Lyrics by Victor and Anne Griffin-Music by V. Griffin - 2001]
guns (that's true)
Held up for his Nikes (that's true)
Pro club on the white tee (that's true)
Nys on the NEs (that's true)
Six fives for my enemies
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