[Brotha Lynch]
Yeah I could load a 9 up everyday, but why
My locc`s told me homie make them tapes
And keep that 24 block alive
But if I feel I`m in need, I got`s to ride
Carry a 9 for straight business, not just a side
Man it`s the night-mare, creepin up in the cut
I`m hittin dice games, barbeques, no matter what
The things I`ve seen`ll make ya throw up
Flaunt your flag, shoot your gats, hit your dank
Where I`m from that`s how ya grow up
Man it`s that wicked and 9 millimeter
Carrier bein stereo-typed daily
Ya got`s to feel me, foo it`s that baby
Killas run around everyday that`s why I`m strapped
Ya heard it I got my own back-fade
Out into the `lac and hit the city of Sac
Them homies given me that
But you got them fools that want a foe then
They wonderin why I`m carryin me a 12 gauge pump
Man I ain`t no punk
The average everyday thug that`s how it sounds
I`m defendin myself, and loadin that mili
And leaving em layin
[Chorus] X 4
Deep down, there`s a place for hope
[Mr. Doctor]
I guess it`s hard to explain why I`m feelin how I`m feelin
I guess I`m feelin sorrow cus my homies got some stealin
And foos would say that it`s my fault I bet
See cus I wasn`t strapped yo, but I can`t fuck my set
How could I know that them foos would blast?
Later on, on my folks
It`s funny how this bangin`s got its different strokes
I think about my loccs and how they made it
Though I`m stressin from the fact
They gotta suffer from a bullet hole
And Mr. Doctor just don`t have hope locc
It`s only been a month, since my last down partner got smoked
And rivals is deep, up in my city foo
Since I`m on the underground team, I can`t have no peace
My life is tore up so I guess I`m stuck
Yeah, I got my St. Ides, I`m turnin it up
To get drunk, then I post up on the street
While I say to myself, for the block
Homie rest in peace
[Chorus] X 4
[Brotha Lynch]
They say that ain`t the way to handle that type funk
But now I`m loadin up the strap, smokin on that blunt
Just cus the Brotha Hung is flag-up
What that mean, I can`t ride?
Why G`s up in my face, I`m bout to help them ride
I keep a low pro, drink the 4-0
And lounge until it`s time to go
Shinin up the forty-fo
Rollin up the boogey-boo, indo
And hopin if I should die, before I`m high
That they bury me in 50 pounds of chocolate thai
I got them homies from the south-side givin it up and
Them homies from the east-side slangin that stuff and
I`m right up in the middle tryin to hang on and
Tryin not to end up like them niggas doin time in the pen
But then again
I`m down for when the homies is ready to roll em up
You know, stick in a dark-blue cut
And as I`m creepin through ya set
Trip, don`t get caught up, shot up
The gardenblock locc`s, man we leave em layin
[Chorus] X 4
