STREET'S DISCIPLE feat. OLU DARA
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この曲の歌詞
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
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