See, my Mom chose dope, my Pop chose the pipe.
So I rhyme like a triple beam balance in life.
Tragedy Khadafi a.k.a. The Intelligent Hoodlum, “Permanently Scarred,” Against All Odds, 1997
See, my Mom chose dope, my Pop chose the pipe.
So I rhyme like a triple beam balance in life.
A thin line between the haters and the ones who love us.
A thinner line from the freedom and the foul judges,
In the streets where the snake niggas hold grudges.
Cats be talkin’, “Bobby I ain’t feelin’ ya.”
But I bet if I was peelin’ your cap back with a two-shot Dillinger
Hot lead released from my cylinder,
You’d be talkin’ ‘bout, “Bobby I’m feelin’ ya!”
…But until then, I’ma shine to the last sin,
Resurrect through the birth of my son, and live again.