Lyrics:
(damn)
The block just shut down, you gotta stay and grind
The streets know, somebody play, it be a homicide (boom, boom)
Unanswered prayers make you
packed (stay packed)
Once you on the bus you might not come back
To my homies doin time, keep your head up (head up)
And to my soldiers on the street
through a text /
Came along way from growing up in the projects/
Before Instagram bitch I had a blue check/
When I win, I stay humble, nigga that’s my
came through the port
Live by the code die by the code
so much cane done came thru this city we named 40th street Bird Road
Who made Opa-Locka? Who knows
the elders loved by Pigmeat Markum
Called here comes the judge.
City streets created poets who spoke the blues.
Through neatly phrased rhymes they delivered
of Crooklyn, type Saturday night
The gear the god was rocking type way out of sight
Limping past the projects
Seen my man, a'ight
Steelo type fat, solar type
Sunday
Sunday I lie at your feet
But I canceled the prayer at the altar
And altered the poem from my seat
With my feet slowed by mud and indifference
the judge fuck the court and every bitch that lied
a little time ticked by, my ho and I got rocked
my lady waking me up yelling Treach, Pac got shot
a traveler's prayer
What if I heard my name called by a voice that I know
From a memory summoned from so long ago
I keep feeling the lately departed are
clothes
I've been rockin' rose gold diamonds on the low
You keep bitches by the low, but you ain't pimpin' though
All my cash come by the four, I'm
fallen ones I say a prayer every time I look up at the sky
I been getting all blue faces lately I been up on my grind
For this I feel like I been hungry
came through the port
Live by the code die by the code
so much cane done came thru this city we named 40th street Bird Road
Who made Opa-Locka? Who knows
the fire
Night covered in wax, relax, recline
Belly scene, sitting by the young God
Back in the projects, blue effects
Two dope boys in that, floating
in you"
Fuck around, get some metal in you
My name ring bells, I could sell out whatever venue
For us, by us
For us, by us
For us, by us
For
New diamonds, money well spent, wellness check if I'm derailing
Them Muslims in the middle of the street my favorite salesmen
By any means the message,
the booth
Never you knew, not even more or less, half of my crew
Takin' your loot, beat you to you're black and turn blue
Watch us, Black Satin, we
she had been
Led straight into the DeKalb dressing room
Named for the street that bisects
A couple of local neighborhoods now
Populated by yuppies but
canceled the prayer at the altar
And altered the poem from my seat
With my feet slowed by mud and indifference
Indifferent with each passing glance
I'm
bitch that lied
a little time ticked by, my ho and I got rocked
my lady waking me up yelling Treach, Pac got shot
soon as I get there I find Afeni
hun concentrate on my funds
Lift heavy gats concealed by my waist
Never get patted down when I step in the place
Jiggied up, smoke the pot,
know that this young nigga grinding
Yea you know if I want I cop it
Bad bitch but she comes from the projects
Don't fuck with her she knock off yo noggin
I pray it never run it's course
Touch a quarter million, my prayers really rubbin' off
Ah, I catch my breath, and holler "Batter's up"
I get
around the way
Gain the points until the whole race traps
And teach up my woman that she should call up the cops
The projects are hell, wait a, minute
paralyzed by it
I'd like to be my old self again but I'm still tryin' to find it
After plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own
Now you mail
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