it, how it go 17 years old, I'm rappin 10 at a time To me, front shit ain't punk shit, long as I get mine And we can get down to shine, no more sellin
so don't tempt me I'm hella drunk, an hella blown off the geniti f**k wit me see these killas in mine buildin this shrine to feed these f**kin children of mine
he never hold many cause it might be marked It's like this give me mine or I'm a take what's yours Make love war, spray up doors, say no more Instead
tips One of the minor technicalities of my head trips You Better Work The Barea Soul terror, been told since stories of old Come on let's go and then
up, thoughts get drawn up Then I communicate, and rappers get torn up So yo when they ask, tell em Chi-Ali sent ya Ya maybe good, but I'm a great adventure
war'. The truth that is now filtering out paints a very different picture. * It's often been said that truth is the first casualty of war, It is, but
lying and cheating and deceiving Started being honest even maybe that would end the grieving All at once alot of chattering and bumping heads begun Someone said "it sounds good
for you if I should survive Whe we stood down at last it was easy to find you And mine was the shoulder you cried on that day Just an old comrade doing
In the good old bad part of this college town Men in business suits they run you down You take their money just like you take mine You send it bubbling
to blast so don't tempt me I'm hella drunk, an hella blown off the geniti fuck wit me see these killas in mine buildin this shrine to feed these fuckin children of mine
get it, how it go 17 years old, I'm rappin 10 at a time To me, front shit ain't punk shit, long as I get mine And we can get down to shine, no more sellin
