Информация о песне На данной странице вы можете ознакомиться с текстом песни Victim Of The Ghetto, исполнителя - Freeway.
Дата выпуска: 31.12.2002
Язык песни: Английский
Victim Of The Ghetto |
Down in my area, chk a chk uh. real shit nigga uh |
It’s the ROC |
Yeah… Free… yea uh feel me. Pa pause |
Yo. yo |
I was born in west but migrated to north |
Remember cold nights grindin' AK in a Taurus |
Four door for the stick up boys if they want war |
Fiends comin' all night all I heard was four more |
Rocks in the cap |
When it was jumpin' me and Rell hit dances |
You could pick me out the crowd rockin' the cap |
But things change |
Cause my man Rell fightin' a body |
On State Road where it’s so cold |
Rockin' his blues |
I roll with the ROC |
Still trynna rock at a show |
Shit ain’t like 98' niggas pockets is low |
Which way do I go? |
Indictments blew over |
Man whipped a few shoulders |
Shovel nick boulders gettin' it slow |
Me, I’m in the studio switchin' the flow |
Changin' the styles |
My son and daughter need pampers |
Cause they just shittin' them up |
And changin' the size |
My man Just quipped the Jags |
See the change in his eyes |
; followed by |
And I eat, sleep, buy, sell — drugs |
Cause I’m just another victim of the ghetto |
When I rob, steal, lie to get money, bust slugs (shots) |
Cause I’m just another product of the ghetto |
This is how it goes down in these ghetto streets |
This is how it goes down in my neighborhood |
This is how it goes down in these ghetto streets |
This is how it goes down in my area |
My man blingin' platinum wheel, platinum gat |
Took a trip down south came back with platinum caps |
I’m still trynna write platinum raps |
But made a slight change from verse one |
Started jugglin' packs |
It’s like I’m travelin' backwards |
Rewindin' the time |
Putting four on nine |
Must be outta my mind |
(uh) nine, get it outta my palm |
Just grab four and a half get it outta my trunk |
Free we need you at the studio |
Out to lunch — out on the block |
These niggas just pulled out on my man |
And the only rock I worry bout is right on my face |
We bout to go shake, rattle his block (shots) with no plans |
Shots fired, cops came |
But I’m a grown man |
I stick around till my clip is empty |
Cops threw me on the ground |
When my clip got empty (shots) |
Now bars is all I see a thug is all I’ll ever be |
I got, 11 in I was facin' a dub, got nine left |
My click show love they write back |
My cousin M’s son, little Di he’s so grown |
Said he hold chrome, run blocks, and write raps |
Wrote him right back |
Told him I control the bones |
Try to play the phone |
We could rhyme and hold wax |
Leave that drug shit alone |
Don’t forget you grown |
It’ll put you places where your mind can’t get you back from |
Little nigga ain’t write me back since |
Still supply the jail |
L.Pridgon you got mail |
It’s probably all the letters you wrote him |
What you mean? |
All the fucked up shit you told him |
This shit from my cousin Emily I’m quotin' (uh huh) |
Right out her letter |
Little Di, got popped in the head trynna steal a nigga leather |
That’s what the cops said but the streets could tell you better |