Yea... yeaYesIma call this one... real rapCause this rap is real... ya know?I hope you aint too tired to cryAnd i hope you know you aint never to live to dieListen...I grew up where them people called them people on usThink we slingin, but we just got beepers on usGrindin all day like we got sleep insomniaLivin like the videos write a treatment on usStuck in the hood like they poured semen on usGhetto birds still shittin on us, government still quittin on usLost a few homies and the grief still sittin on usSo we got the names written on us, white folks still spittin on usAnd them bitch ass police k-9's teeth still grittin on usBut we smoke, ashes still gettin on usOlder bitches still hittin on usI remember well, beezy roll the lBeezy aint here... wheres beezy at?... beezy got killedAnd that was my nigga, i go way back for my niggaBut i know thats how it happend my nigga,Shit is much deeper than this rappin my niggaBut now they all rappin my niggas, so now i must make it happenSo ima play the captain, sail boat flappin my niggaNo fingers im snappin, happy for my nigga lil taggersCause even tho we couldnt, the lord saved himLast time we seen him was when katrina hatedFound his body like a month later, rest in peace boyHe was a east boy, and so was wesy wes he was a good nigga, so i know he blessedAnd his daughter is a princess, this shit is harder than a bench pressBut ima keep goin, and i swear i got a lump in my throatBut ima keep on pumpin the flow,So if i cry dont stop the beat, i feel like my heart just stopped the beatMy nigga lil derek is quick to cop a key, either that or load the gat and go pop a gAnd because of that hes just a name in a rhyme of mineI pray his family and his mama is fineSo much shit just sit on this mind of mineI think about it all the timeI drink about it all the timeI smoke back to backCause if my thoughts got to me id be in this rapOr id be in the can, thank god i had dreams of being the manYea and fuck a man with a badge cause he aint shit to a man on the edgeThe five o killed naughty good boy deadMan you woulda thought they killed corn breadShot em up face down on the lawnNot to mention with his handcuffs onNot to mention they had plain clothes onAnd the complain goes onBut no body do nothin bout itThe jail house and the morgue is too fuckin crowdedAnd haters at an all time highEverybody got their hatas like a fuckin ipodShit and they tried to burn my phantom up, but i got my gun licenseI got my hammers up, im ready to shoot like a cameraStay still mothafucka ima have to write my will this summerCause if they dont kill me, ima kill this summerYeaAnd you can put that on my late father or my late grandmotherMs. mercedes carterOr my grandfather larry bosock the old man hustle till his heart stoppedAnd all i know of my real pops is that he had moneyNo bank account, that brown paper bag moneyYea he might hit me off wit a little brag moneyBut the nigga still wouldnt be a dad for meBut look how i turned out i hope he glad for meBut thats why when i see him i act mad funny cause hes a joke to meDont message, dont call, dont talk to meIts just me and my moma how its suppose to beAnd i make sure she paid like she wrote for meAnd i know she gets all hope for meAnd i dont ever want to see her mope for meHopefully but truthfully there is a day thats due for meBut we gone pray that its as far as the future seesYour listenin to the future weezy f. babyAmen
🎤
LETROU FEATURE
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I hope you aint too tired to cry
And i hope you know you aint never to live to die
Listen...
I grew up where them people called them people on us
Think we slingin, but we just got beepers on us
Grindin all day like we got sleep insomnia
Livin like the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like they poured semen on us
Ghetto birds still shittin on us, government still quittin on us
Lost a few homies and the grief still sittin on us
So we got the names written on us, white folks still spittin on us
And them bitch ass police k-9's teeth still grittin on us
But we smoke, ashes still gettin on us
Older bitches still hittin on us
I remember well, beezy roll the l
Beezy aint here... wheres beezy at?... beezy got killed
And that was my nigga, i go way back for my nigga
But i know thats how it happend my nigga,
Shit is much deeper than this rappin my nigga
But now they all rappin my niggas, so now i must make it happen
So ima play the captain, sail boat flappin my nigga
No fingers im snappin, happy for my nigga lil taggers
Cause even tho we couldnt, the lord saved him
Last time we seen him was when katrina hated
Found his body like a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a east boy, and so was wesy wes he was a good nigga, so i know he blessed
And his daughter is a princess, this shit is harder than a bench press
But ima keep goin, and i swear i got a lump in my throat
But ima keep on pumpin the flow,
So if i cry dont stop the beat, i feel like my heart just stopped the beat
My nigga lil derek is quick to cop a key, either that or load the gat and go pop a g
And because of that hes just a name in a rhyme of mine
I pray his family and his mama is fine
So much shit just sit on this mind of mine
I think about it all the time
I drink about it all the time
I smoke back to back
Cause if my thoughts got to me id be in this rap
Or id be in the can, thank god i had dreams of being the man
Yea and fuck a man with a badge cause he aint shit to a man on the edge
The five o killed naughty good boy dead
Man you woulda thought they killed corn bread
Shot em up face down on the lawn
Not to mention with his handcuffs on
Not to mention they had plain clothes on
And the complain goes on
But no body do nothin bout it
The jail house and the morgue is too fuckin crowded
And haters at an all time high
Everybody got their hatas like a fuckin ipod
Shit and they tried to burn my phantom up, but i got my gun license
I got my hammers up, im ready to shoot like a camera
Stay still mothafucka ima have to write my will this summer
Cause if they dont kill me, ima kill this summer
Yea
And you can put that on my late father or my late grandmother
Ms. mercedes carter
Or my grandfather larry bosock the old man hustle till his heart stopped
And all i know of my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, that brown paper bag money
Yea he might hit me off wit a little brag money
But the nigga still wouldnt be a dad for me
But look how i turned out i hope he glad for me
But thats why when i see him i act mad funny cause hes a joke to me
Dont message, dont call, dont talk to me
Its just me and my moma how its suppose to be
And i make sure she paid like she wrote for me
And i know she gets all hope for me
And i dont ever want to see her mope for me
Hopefully but truthfully there is a day thats due for me
But we gone pray that its as far as the future sees
Your listenin to the future weezy f. baby
Amen
Speed
YOUR SPACE
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