Problem Child — текст песни (Dom PaChino (a.k.a. P.R. Terrorist))

[sample repeated throughout the song]
And you can tell what the problem, that boy is going to hell

[Intro: Dom PaChino]
Yeah, Tera Iz Him
The shit is real, Problem Child
Yo, yo..

[Dom PaChino]
My first born, birthed from shorty in the next project
Chinky eyed, little nigga had to gain his respect
So I bust my gun, sold drugs to they dunn
A hard rock, little nigga, runnin` two thirty-one
Made a few kingpin moves, neck rose to pretty paint
Rock cold in the trail, I`m out of state drinkin` Henny
Layin` low in places, and never seen Puerto Ricans
Bitches lovin` my style, cuz it`s slang how I speak it
Blow up back to 4th`s studio, burn, smoke a bloom
LP comin` soon, first niggaz was cartoon
I got touched when the day Christ died, my Earth cried
Explotation so high, though his promise to dry
As I laid in the hospital bed, leg full of lead
Sick thoughts went through my head, eyes blood shot red
On the hall, where my lawyer case ain`t lookin` too good
Fake niggaz on my dick, talkin` shit in the hood
Rumors that I got merked off, get the story straight, jerk-off
A year later, spotted in a Beamer wit my shirt off
Wildin` out, burgundy doubt, went all out
Low profile, chain swingin` heavy when I`m pealin` out

[Chorus 2X: Dom PaChino]
Peace, be true, deal with that
Leave ya seed and watch ya back
Wit the jake, avoid contact
And on the world make a large impact
Yo, cuz ya`ll can talk all the shit ya`ll want
And ya`ll can smoke all the blunts and front
And yo, when funds is low at the end of the month
Re-up, and cop the Terrorist shit

[Outro: Dom PaChino]
Save ya life, word
What ya know about problems?
And got a big one, knawhatimean?
Shout out to my God, word