STREET'S DISCIPLE feat. OLU DARA

You was born in the 80's, pops drove a Mercedes, did a bid commin home to some grown ass kid, crack baby turning young thug, description might fit you, look around it might hit you, no joke, don't wanna pistol fight with you, shit comes around faster than you think, blood and white chalk make pink, so what's that make you? Become a creature of habitat, the average cat won't see where it's at, or where it's goin, The hood waits for no one, I been through it from Ewings to Buick's, to body viewings', Car chases, to court cases, to fly vacations, to wanting it all, to being the object of your admiration, Imagination, that's what they lack, it stops niggas from getting stacks, feeling trapped on the block with lose cracks, wisdom is vital, for the survival, of the street's disciple From the day you were born, standing out a young disciple, there's a gleam in your eyes... disciple of the project, from the day you were born, streets... disciple, yea, disciple of the projects Moon struck stuck slow as mallasiss, in my actions, that's compliments of a fast spiff in the night life, in my flight jacket, adrenaline heighten, mimicking Tyson after watchin him cut up razor ruddick, in the gutter, which was once ghetto prophecy is now ghetto scripture, lookin back at it, blow jobs from pretty crack addicts, older guys wanting no static, told some little niggas they can have it, coke baggin it, toe taggin it, they took Will, let me describe him, a live one, I think he was a true godson, now Jesus with femurs, his ear was up on them sounds too, he'd hear something not to his liking, and say son they biting you, he never got to see my depute, wild mannered but wild with them hammers, niggas fronting couldn't stand it, took him off the planet, left us in nine two, with the philosophy of what arms do, a true streets disciple From the day you were born, standing out a young disciple, there's a gleam in your eyes... disciple of the project, from the day you were born, streets... disciple, yea, disciple of the projects Plug the mic's up, I'm ready to rock, knocking reminiscing the measuring pots of pirates, cook in the kitchen captain hook to these infants, just like my ghost still on the benches, surrounded by villains and henchmen, was a killer convention, 1991 son, gold fronts in the facial, gun butt by the navel, the cipher we blazed a few laced up with embalming fluid, rhyming with music, all this time fighting bout how Kane and Rakim would do it, seemed impossible to us, that we could ever leave from the block, where the world was forever freezing, hell if I ever him shovel me son in to sell again, fuck these devil policemen, blush leathers, I need them, risking my freedom, burners in bubble coats, fuck a sermon from the neighbor hood pope, he's sexin ho's old fart, he bustin ones when he stroke, multi-colored pelle pelle's, young stretch mark belly's, babies born in the cycle, future disciple From the day you were born, standing out a young disciple, there's a gleam in your eyes... disciple of the project, from the day you were born, streets... disciple, yea, disciple of the projects