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Word up Son, s–t is ill kid..
Knahmsayin? Bein that we livin the motherf–kin trife life
Don’t have another day right?
It’s only right
Let me put you on to what happens Son, never believe this s–t
Kick that s–t
[Prodigy]
It’s just another day, drownin my troubles with a forty
That’s when I got the call from this brownskin shorty
She asked me where’s my crew at? Said we could do whatever
She got her crew too, and said that we should get together
I said, “Aight — just call me back in a hour
so I can take a shower and gather up the manpower”
Then I hung up the horn
And I thought to myself that it might be on
Cause this trick ain’t pick up the phone to call me in years (Why?)
Ever since I left the hoe lonely in tears
Ain’t no tellin what her friends puttin up in her ears
Ideas of settin me up, I’m not tryin ta hear
(Check it out, Son) So we take the gats for precautions
Plus this trick live in Brooklyn, home of the coffin
She might got a whole batallion of Bucktowners
Waitin for us to get up off the train and surround us
Or maybe, I’m blowin this s–t out of proportion
But this s–t do happen, to n—az very often
So f–k it, a n—a gotta do what he meant to
My crew got my back, f–k the world is my mental
We put together five soldiers, the bitch called
My blood curdled, told me to meet her on Myrtle
Got to the plaza, we’re waitin for the G train
We put a plan together, just in case the beef came
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