[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
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Copy to Clipboard: [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
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