Remember back in the days, when niggaz had waves Gazelle shades, and corn braids Pitchin pennies, honies had the high top jellies Shootin skelly, motherfuckers was all friendly Loungin at the barbeques, drinkin brews with the neighborhood crews, hangin on the avenues Turn your pagers, to nineteen ninety three Niggaz is gettin smoked G, believe me Talk slick, you get your neck slit quick Cause real street niggaz ain't havin that shit Totin techs for rep, smokin blunts in the project hallways, shootin dice all day Wait for niggaz to step up on some fightin shit We get hype and shit and start lifin shit So step away with your fist fight ways Motherfucker this ain't back in the days, but you don't hear me though
Verse Two:
No more cocoa leave-io, one two three One two three, all of this to me, is a mystery I hear you motherfuckers talk about it But I stay seein bodies with the motherfuckin chalk around it And I'm down with the shit too For the stupid motherfuckers wanna try to use Kung-Fu Instead of a Mac-10 he tried scrappin Slugs in his back and, that's what the fuck happens when you sleep on the street Little motherfuckers with heat, want ta leave a nigga six feet deep And we comin to the wake To make sure the cryin and commotion ain't a motherfuckin fake Back in the days, our parents used to take care of us Look at em now, they even fuckin scared of us Callin the city for help because they can't maintain Damn, shit done changed
Verse Three:
If I wasn't in the rap game I'd probably have a key knee deep in the crack game Because the streets is a short stop Either you're slingin crack rock or you got a wicked jumpshot Shit, it's hard being young from the slums eatin five cent gums not knowin where your meals comin from And now the shit's gettin crazier and major Kids younger than me, they got the Sky grand Pagers Goin outta town, blowin up Six months later all the dead bodies showin up It make me wanna grab the nine and the shottie But I gotta go identify the body Damn, what happened to the summertime cookouts? Everytime I turn around a nigga gettin took out Shit, my momma got cancer in her breast Don't ask me why I'm motherfuckin stressed, things done changed
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Copy to Clipboard: Verse One:
Remember back in the days, when niggaz had waves Gazelle shades, and corn braids Pitchin pennies, honies had the high top jellies Shootin skelly, motherfuckers was all friendly Loungin at the barbeques, drinkin brews with the neighborhood crews, hangin on the avenues Turn your pagers, to nineteen ninety three Niggaz is gettin smoked G, believe me Talk slick, you get your neck slit quick Cause real street niggaz ain't havin that shit Totin techs for rep, smokin blunts in the project hallways, shootin dice all day Wait for niggaz to step up on some fightin shit We get hype and shit and start lifin shit So step away with your fist fight ways Motherfucker this ain't back in the days, but you don't hear me though
Verse Two:
No more cocoa leave-io, one two three One two three, all of this to me, is a mystery I hear you motherfuckers talk about it But I stay seein bodies with the motherfuckin chalk around it And I'm down with the shit too For the stupid motherfuckers wanna try to use Kung-Fu Instead of a Mac-10 he tried scrappin Slugs in his back and, that's what the fuck happens when you sleep on the street Little motherfuckers with heat, want ta leave a nigga six feet deep And we comin to the wake To make sure the cryin and commotion ain't a motherfuckin fake Back in the days, our parents used to take care of us Look at em now, they even fuckin scared of us Callin the city for help because they can't maintain Damn, shit done changed
Verse Three:
If I wasn't in the rap game I'd probably have a key knee deep in the crack game Because the streets is a short stop Either you're slingin crack rock or you got a wicked jumpshot Shit, it's hard being young from the slums eatin five cent gums not knowin where your meals comin from And now the shit's gettin crazier and major Kids younger than me, they got the Sky grand Pagers Goin outta town, blowin up Six months later all the dead bodies showin up It make me wanna grab the nine and the shottie But I gotta go identify the body Damn, what happened to the summertime cookouts? Everytime I turn around a nigga gettin took out Shit, my momma got cancer in her breast Don't ask me why I'm motherfuckin stressed, things done changed
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