[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
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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
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