| Sup |
| Dedicated to my homie Lil' Terry |
| Rest in peace |
| Front Hood Crip |
| That nigga DJ a/k/a Lex Diamond |
| 151 Piru, knawmsayin? |
| Not long back when I had this cool friend who got paid |
| And I’ma change the names to protect who’s afraid |
| Let’s call him Butch, he was superior to crooks |
| He ran the books and killed niggas for they looks |
| But peep it, this nigga told me secrets bout life |
| The struggles of the black and the luxuries of white |
| The shit was trife, my nigga’s game was ass-tight |
| And eh, really the only older nigga that I liked |
| I took heed while this boss player took the lead |
| As he explained why niggas was addicted to greed |
| He looked tipsy, mashin in his black 850 |
| «I hit a lick T, now all my niggas out to get me |
| And this is us, you the only nigga I trust |
| Cause when it’s on, we the only niggas to bust» |
| No diggity, I know how niggas be around town |
| But when they talkin bout mashin on a homie, I gots to stay down |
| God please shine your light cause my people are sightless |
| And nothing’s positive when you’re far from righteous |
| We’re born in a world of negative and greed |
| And every day for somethin dumb I watch a young black bleed |
| Our kids that sell drugs, was raised to be thugs |
| Raised to love hate, raised to hate love |
| And in the years to come I hope my people get hip |
| Stop killin off each other, let’s get this grip |
| And everywhere we went, man, we was strapped like goodfellas |
| With fresh Karl Kanis I floss Armani sweaters |
| While Butch, he bragged about Colombian connections |
| Fuckin with the Mexicans who dress like Texans |
| A veteran, and although I seemed mesmerized |
| I glanced and saw the look of fear in his eyes |
| He taught me: «Sometimes you can’t trust your own people |
| They turn on ya, and all this shit’s illegal |
| I gave up dances, bullshit type romances |
| Dress the fanciest, takin penitentiary chances |
| Now the baby gees wanna drop me to my knees |
| Damn, niggas tryina stick me for my ki’s |
| Well good luck cause loc, I don’t give a fuck |
| I put that on the set, I leave these young fools touched |
| With hollow point slugs through your mug young clown |
| You’re speakin on dippin in my riches, you best to stay down» |
| And as years went by, my nigga kept his game in gear |
| He moved to Atlanta, I pursued my career |
| Sometimes I reminisce the ways we did dirt |
| Cookin up chemicals, shippin out work |
| He kept in touch, he said he bought a five on dubs |
| «And when you get a chance nigga, come rock my club |
| These hoes get tossed when I floss on my boat |
| Don’t sweat no hotels, I bought a crib by Too $hort |
| It don’t stop till the wheels break loose |
| I heard they tripped out and killed my nigga Big Bruce |
| It’s all good, he’s seein things much greater |
| Them niggas involved laugh now, cry later» |
| I know what’s happenin, my nigga always spoke wise |
| Some people gotta grind, get the loot and organize |
| He closed the conversation, would I always be around? |
| «You need somethin, hit me, God bless loc, stay down» |