You a white boy in a fuckin’ droptop,
Bumpin’ 2Pac, actin’ like you hard? Stop.
Hip-hop music make the world go round,
But buying a record don’t put you down.
You listen to thugs, it don’t make you one;
Never met a Blood or Crip, but you act like one?
See, it really ain’t about if you eatin’ or not eatin’.
It’s freedom or not freedom. Breathin’ or not breathin’.
Another day, another way, another dollar spent;
Gotta make a revolution out of fifteen cent.
If I upset you, don’t stress. Never forget
That God isn’t finished with me yet.
I feel His hand on my brain…
When I write rhymes, I go blind and let the Lord do His thang.
Now I don’t want to be a dopeman, listen:
I didn’t have a dime, a nickel, penny, a pot to piss in.
See, all my clothes had holes and they fit tight,
Pray to God cause it’s hard trying to live right.
Waiting on the train, can’t hang with the street gangs,
Making me insane, putting rain on my whole brain.
But the train means change to better thangs;
Can’t live with the negative and ghetto pains.
Can’t be late, can’t wait to get to where we’re going,
Almost ten to four and I’m sure that the train is showing.
But I ain’t sure where it goes, I don’t really know it,
But I got faith, that’s all it takes to get to where we’re going.
What is competition? I’m tryna raise the bar high,
Who tryna jump and get it? You better off tryna skydive
Out the exit window of 5 G5’s with 5 grand
With your granddad as the pilot he drunk as fuck tryna land
With the hand full of arthritis and popping prosthetic leg
Bumpin Pac in the cockpit so the shit that pops in his head
Is an option of violence, someone heard the stewardess said
That your parachute is a latex condom hooked to a thread.
To all the seeds that follow me,
Protect your essence.
Born with less, but you still precious,
Just smile for me now.
I been in the game for 10 years making rap tunes…
Ever since honeys was wearing Sassoons.
I’m down for you, so ride with me.
My enemies your enemies,
Cause you ain’t ever had a friend like me.
Dear Mama, don’t cry, your baby boy’s doin’ good,
Tell the homies I’m in heaven, and they ain’t got hoods.
Seen a show with Marvin Gaye last night, it had me shook,
Drippin’ peppermint Schnapps, with Jackie Wilson, and Sam Cooke…
Set me up, wet me up, niggas stuck me up…
Heard the guns bust, but you tricks never shut me up.
God damn! Drug dealers dealin’ to the kiddies,
Livin’ in the city ain’t no pity on the itty-bitty.
We try to cry, but still they all die,
I try to speak to the youth, and the truth is: they all high.
You know it’s funny, when it rains it pours,
They got money for wars, but can’t feed the poor.
Fuck you, losers. While you fake jacks, I makes maneuvers.
You just met me, you won’t let me…
Well if I couldn’t have it, silly rabbit, why you sweating me?
It’s war on the streets and a war in the Middle East
Instead of war on poverty, they got a war on drugs
So the police can bother me…
Run from the police, picture that,
Nigga I’m too fat…
I fuck around and catch a asthma attack.
Be grateful for blessings,
Don’t ever change, keep your essence.
The power is in the people and politics we address.
I’m like a major threat:
Cause I remind you of the things you were made to forget.
– 2Pac, “Holler If Ya Hear Me,” Strictly 4 My N.I.G.G.A.Z., 1993
The passion of Pac, the depth of Nas, circa 9-3,
Mix the mind of Brad Jordan and Chuck D and find me.
I spit with the diction of Malcolm or say a Bun B,
Prevail through Hell, so Satan get ye behind me.
Cause when I was low, you was there for me,
And never left me alone because you cared for me.
And I could see you coming home after work late:
You’re in the kitchen trying to fix us a hot plate.
You just working with the scraps you was given,
And Mama made miracles every Thanksgivin’.