Moving through the L.A. streets with the homeboys
Dipping in the toy having Chips Ahoy
Cookies and these rookies still can't see us
A lotta people wanna be us cause we's the O.G.'es
Real Eastside riders from the hood
And I wish niggas would
Come at me like it's all good
If y'all could you'd probably do the same thing
Rap, sling dope, pimp hoes, or gang bang
And it's a goddamn shame, but
Now the babies is the ones blued down and flamed up
Sagging with they neighborhood flag inside they pockets
Think they ain't? They even spray paint the sprockets
On they bike, yelling, "What that Eastside like?"
Getting high in the bleachers while the teachers on strike
Books collect dust on they shelf
Parents either dead or gone, so they raise theyself
But who cares
Some talk about killing, some hear about it, some do it
Some can't handle it, and others just numb to it
You think we got problems? They the ones
Cause kids is having kids, and kids is having guns
Ask yours daughters and sons what they learning in school
And watch em look at you like you a fool
All they learn is how to smoke a bidi
How to do a tattoo use a rubber, cuss, fight, and write graffiti
The TV and the radio is raisin em
Parents hold your breath, cause death ain't even fazing em
A single mother out working like a slave
Ain't no home cooked meal, just a microwave
Oven, what happened to the loving?
Good taste done been replaced by pushing, and shoving
It all started at home with the family
Now we can't save em, or can we?
Who cares
Makes me wanna holler
Throw up both my hands
They don't give a fuck
So I don't give a fuck
Don't nobody care what happen to us
Except God Almighty, in whom we trust
I bust rhymes like these for a reason
Cause for everything up under the sun it's a season
To live and die, laugh and cry
Everybody knows shit happens, but nobody knows why
And they don't even try to learn
By letting the 5 Percent teach em, it's like they rather burn
And for niggas just to turn they life around and chill
It's harder to save, than it is to kill
As we spill each other blood in the streets
I see yellow tape and wonder who that is up under the sheet
Another child just got shot down
Now what's the chances that they not black and not brown?
A lotta people crowd around cause they feel they got to stop and stare
But they don't really care
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Copy to Clipboard: They don't give a fuck
So I don't give a fuck
Makes me wanna holler
Throw up both my hands
Moving through the L.A. streets with the homeboys
Dipping in the toy having Chips Ahoy
Cookies and these rookies still can't see us
A lotta people wanna be us cause we's the O.G.'es
Real Eastside riders from the hood
And I wish niggas would
Come at me like it's all good
If y'all could you'd probably do the same thing
Rap, sling dope, pimp hoes, or gang bang
And it's a goddamn shame, but
Now the babies is the ones blued down and flamed up
Sagging with they neighborhood flag inside they pockets
Think they ain't? They even spray paint the sprockets
On they bike, yelling, "What that Eastside like?"
Getting high in the bleachers while the teachers on strike
Books collect dust on they shelf
Parents either dead or gone, so they raise theyself
But who cares
Some talk about killing, some hear about it, some do it
Some can't handle it, and others just numb to it
You think we got problems? They the ones
Cause kids is having kids, and kids is having guns
Ask yours daughters and sons what they learning in school
And watch em look at you like you a fool
All they learn is how to smoke a bidi
How to do a tattoo use a rubber, cuss, fight, and write graffiti
The TV and the radio is raisin em
Parents hold your breath, cause death ain't even fazing em
A single mother out working like a slave
Ain't no home cooked meal, just a microwave
Oven, what happened to the loving?
Good taste done been replaced by pushing, and shoving
It all started at home with the family
Now we can't save em, or can we?
Who cares
Makes me wanna holler
Throw up both my hands
They don't give a fuck
So I don't give a fuck
Don't nobody care what happen to us
Except God Almighty, in whom we trust
I bust rhymes like these for a reason
Cause for everything up under the sun it's a season
To live and die, laugh and cry
Everybody knows shit happens, but nobody knows why
And they don't even try to learn
By letting the 5 Percent teach em, it's like they rather burn
And for niggas just to turn they life around and chill
It's harder to save, than it is to kill
As we spill each other blood in the streets
I see yellow tape and wonder who that is up under the sheet
Another child just got shot down
Now what's the chances that they not black and not brown?
A lotta people crowd around cause they feel they got to stop and stare
But they don't really care
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