Real slow hits from the bong…
Make me feel like Cheech,
And I’m kickin’ it with Chong.
Tag Archives: west coast
Somebody gotta tell you this:
Cancer kills way more Americans than any Arabic terrorist.
We use more money to fight them than finding a cure,
So a little kid sits there with his chemo-therapist.
Hair falling out while his vital signs weaken…
He’ll be dead while his parent are in debt for his treatment.
You wanna stop the X? Try your best,
I’m still fuckin with your pockets like the IRS.
And I’m not sure why I’m infatuated with death,
My imagination is surely an aggravation of threats…
Maybe cause I’m a dreamer, and sleep is the cousin of death,
Really stuck in the scheme of wondering when I’mma rest.
How can they say feeling good is an addiction?
But the world is full of shit, so I don’t listen,
In fact, ‘we livin’ to die’ is a contradiction.
Can’t live with them…can’t live without them.
But I love a whole lot more than I hate about them.
They look good, feel good, and smell even better,
So why you acting like your mama didn’t use that leather?
‘B word’ this, ‘H bomb’ that.
In the midst all of this, I wonder: ‘Where your moms at?’
Cause if she ain’t one, then tell me where the hate from?
You just calm down, and maybe you can date one.
Buy some flowers, open up some doors.
She needs some tampons? Homie, go to the store.
Vitamin Water, a bottle of Motrin,
Teddy bear, candy bar, something, a token
Of affection, a step in that direction,
…Cause love is about progress, not perfection.
Life is something you can’t borrow and give back;
Here today and gone tomorrow…just like that.
You can take back all the things you give,
But you can’t take back the days you live.
Life is to some people who’ve been on earth
Livin’ every single day for what it’s worth.
I live life just how I please,
Satisfy one person I know: that’s me.
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.
If Dr. King marched today, would Bill Gates march?
I know Obama would, but would Hillary take part?
What’s the basis when rappers don’t know the basics?
Still not takin’ advice from those I wouldn’t trade places with.
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.
You better recognize, adjust your bifocals;
Your style is local…I sit on the beach in Acapulco.
I put words together like Peter Jennings,
And skate on motherfuckers like Peggy Fleming.
I write raps, and when niggas bite, I clap.
Cause their shit sounds better now.
My motto is: the bigger they are, the more politics involved,
And I revolve at a rate to make your occipital skull plate dissolve.
Techniques delve deep, soooo…don’t sleep, ock, I rock phonics
That got you holdin my dick like your name was Lorena Bobbit.
I got a head full of headaches, a heart that’s full of woes.
I’m constantly singin’ them down home blues, and not many people knows
That leaves me with a twisted view of the whole wide world as I know it…
And I guess I got no choice but to be a poet.
Alright I might…
Have had a little glare when I stared at ya ho.
But I didn’t know she was like that,
She stared right back!
The place I’m from, Santa don’t leave gifts.
In my house, Santa only shoplifts.
Holidays in the hood ain’t no motherfuckin joke,
When people all around you is starving and broke.
Cause if you black and poor, it’s hell;
You only hear gunshots, you never hear bells.
So if you got a way out, then go
Cause it ain’t no fun with Christmas in the ghetto.
Now on the first day of Christmas, my homeboy gave to me
A sack of the krazy glue and told me to smoke it up slowly.
Now on the second day of Christmas, my homeboy gave to me
A fifth of Hendog and told me to take my mind off that weed.
Now by the third day of Christmas, my big homeboy gave to me
A whole lot of everything, and it wasn’t nuthin’ but game to me.
I’m hooked on gin and tonics like your mama’s Hooked on Phonics.
They say sleep is the cousin of death, guess we related…
Cause I’m the most slept on, and the most hated.
If sleep is the cousin of death, then death is the cousin of sadness;
Murder’s the cousin of madness, love is the cousin of that bitch.
Crews talk shit, but in my face they kiss my ass.
Flip the flyer attire females desire,
Baby you can step to this if you admire
The extraordinary dapper rapper…
Keep tabs on your main squeeze before I tap her.
Life’s not a bitch, life is a beautiful woman…
You only call her a bitch because she won’t let you get that pussy.
Maybe she didn’t feel y’all shared any similar interests,
Or maybe you’re just an asshole who couldn’t sweet talk the princess.
Time flies, dreams die, people lose faith,
Tryna hide behind a lie with a straight face.
Make a radio hit: heads criticize it.
Underground classic? Nobody buys it.
So, rap is fucked…
And everything blowing up sounds redundant,
But money talks and bullshit does 9 flat in the 100.
How you know where I’m at when you haven’t been where I’ve been?
Understand where I’m coming from?
Nothing’s been the same since they dropped ‘Control’
And tucked a sensitive rapper back in his pajama clothes.
Ha-ha! Joke’s on you, high-five, I’m bulletproof,
Your shit’ll never penetrate.
Pin the tail on the donkey, boy you been a fake.
Every time I write these words they become a taboo,
Making sure my punctuation curve, every letter here’s true,
Living my life in the margin, and that metaphor was proof.
He rolls down his window and he started to say:
‘It’s all about making that GTA.’
We live in a society created by an empire
That’s based on terror…welcome to the One World Era,
A complete interruption to your lil’ paltry-ass life,
That you thought you was livin, and what you been given.
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.
I’ve seen niggas transform like villain Decepticons,
Mollies’ll prolly turn these niggas to fuckin’ Lindsay Lohan.
A bunch of rich ass white girls lookin’ for parties,
Playin with Barbies, wreck the Porsche before you give ‘em the car key.
Bummy nigga famous, straight from the bottom,
Broke niggas hate it, still never robbed ‘em.
Guns in the basement, out they have a problem,
Kush be my fragrance, we love marijuana.
I circumnavigate the globe with a one-liner like latitude.
To all the seeds that follow me,
Protect your essence.
Born with less, but you still precious,
Just smile for me now.
Her dreams hold Versace,
She fall for Armani…
Only deal with rich niggas,
Fuck you and Mitt Romney.
I been in the game for 10 years making rap tunes…
Ever since honeys was wearing Sassoons.
Ooh! Jesus Christ had dreads, so shake ‘em.
I ain’t got none, but I’m planning on growing some.
Imagine all the Hebrews going dumb…
Dancing on top of chariots and turning tight ones.
We made plans, but we’ll never be able to fulfill ‘em.
This is shit we put together since we was little…
Every time we had dreams, you found a way you could kill ’em.
Payback’s a bitch, that’s why I never borrow;
And if push comes to shove, I’d do a stickup tomorrow.
I’m down for you, so ride with me.
My enemies your enemies,
Cause you ain’t ever had a friend like me.
I ain’t goin out like a spineless jellyfish.
Some say life is a bitch…
Ask that punk who dug his own ditch.
How you picture tomorrow with the wrong frame of mind?
How you picture love, if you were blind?
Woke up quick, at about noon.
Just thought that I had to be in Compton soon.
I gotta get drunk before the day begins,
Before my mother starts bitchin bout my friends.
All right, stop whatcha doin, cause I’m about to ruin
The image and the style that you’re used to.
I can drink a whole Hennessy fifth.
Some call that a problem, but I call it a gift.
Whether chocolate or vanilla, or you’re somewhere in between,
A cappuccino mocha or a caramel queen,
Rejected by the black, not accepted by the white world,
And this is dedicated to them dark-skinned white girls.
You keepin it real, but ain’t got a clue what reality really be;
See, the diameter of your knowledge is the circumference of your activity.
I don’t know what’s better: getting laid or getting paid.
I just know when I’m getting one, the other’s getting away.
You know it ain’t no stoppin’
All the doggs I’m droppin’
It’s Friday night, so everything is poppin.
You know them days you just got the blues,
All stressed and depressed from just watchin’ the news?
No matter what good you do, it seems you always get screwed.
Got you caught up in your feelings, now you off in the mood.
Shake that attitude and do what you can,
Set a couple goals, follow through with your plans.
Time waits for no man and tomorrow’s not promised,
So if she’s still alive, shoot a call to your mama.
Cause the fighting and the drama, it’s just not worth it,
Nobody’s perfect, ain’t none of us worthless.
We all got a place, and we all got a purpose.
I live this life at a pace that anyone can go.
Know your place, and dedicate your role
…To the faith that you’ll die alone
Back as kids we used to kiss when we played truth or dare,
Now she’s more sophisticated, highly edu-ma-cated
Not at all over-rated…I think I need a prayer
To get in her boots, and it looks rather dry,
I guess a twinkle in her eye is just a twinkle in her eye.
Although she’s crazy steppin’, I’ll try to stop her stride,
‘Cause I won’t have no more of this passin’ me by.
Picture yourself crushin’ Xzibit with your tough talk?
That’s like Christopher Reeve doing the crip walk.
How could you possibly stop the apocalypse when I’m atomic bombin’ the populace?
Little brats yellin ‘Trick or Treat’ all through my screen door,
When y’all should be at home sleep,
Instead of at my front porch 15 deep.
The jack o’ lantern came in handy…
I can turn my porch light out like I ain’t got no candy.
But ain’t that somethin?
You buy a Halloween costume and a pumpkin,
Almost gave your children a heart attack.
It’s a tradition, but who the hell started that?
Look inside my soul and you can find gold and maybe get rich.
Look inside of your soul and you can find out it never exists…
Imagine Rock up in the projects where them niggas pick your pockets,
Santa Claus don’t miss them stockings, liquor spilling, pistols popping,
Baking soda Yola whipping, ain’t no turkey on Thanksgiving,
My homeboy just domed a nigga, I just hope the Lord forgive him.
Let bygones be bygones…but where I’m from,
We buy guns and more guns, to give to the young.
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…
Footballs, basketballs, microphones, gas and grass…
Just some of the few things that J-Ro likes to pass.
Now there she goes again, the dopest Ethiopian,
And now the world around me be gets movin in slow motion
Whenever she happens to walk by, why does the apple of my eye
Overlook and disregard my feelings no matter how much I try?
You’s a nigga everybody diss, cause you can’t bust this,
You got a bad name like Dick Butkus.
Cause the boyz in the hood are always hard,
You come talkin’ that trash, we’ll pull your card.
Knowin’ nothin’ in life but to be legit,
Don’t quote me boy, cause I ain’t sayin’ shit.
6’n the mornin’ police at my door,
Fresh Adidas squeak across the bathroom floor.
Out the back window I make a escape,
Don’t even get a chance to grab my old school tape…
Alright, it’s getting really close to the election day.
I’m voting; please don’t cut off my Section 8.
As soon as pastor pass the collection plate,
I’m like, ‘Shit, I’m trying to stack for a Escalade!’
I wonder, who do you believe in? I know it ain’t me,
I hope it ain’t a priest, or who you seen on TV.
I hope it ain’t your poppa, potna, he only raised you.
And I know it ain’t your mom, even though that’s who you came through…
I show more blind rage than Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles wrestling in a steel cage.
Set me up, wet me up, niggas stuck me up…
Heard the guns bust, but you tricks never shut me up.
Fuck the car, I do a muthafuckin’ walk-by.
I’m Ready to Die without a Reasonable Doubt
Smoke Chronic and hit it Doggystyle before I go out.
Until they sign my Death Certificate, All Eyez on Me
I’m still at it, Illmatic, and that’s The Documentary.
Slim Shady: Hotter then a set of twin babies
In a Mercedes Benz, with the windows up
When the temp goes up to the mid 80’s.
I got a funny feeling like something was real wrong…
Looked at her shoes and her feets was real long!
Then it hit me, Oh please God no,
Don’t let this ho turn out to be a John Doe…
He pulled a fast one on me, yo!
Using numerology to count the people I sent to heaven,
Produces more digits than 22 divided by 7.
I make chicks consider themselves widows whose husbands ain’t even died yet.
I’m a menace to society,
But girls in biker shorts are so fly to me.
After the date, I’mma want to do the wild thing…
You’re talkin’ lobster? I’m thinkin’ Burger King.
Money…really wasn’t part of the rap.
Paid…was havin’ people start to clap.
Hits from the bong
Make me feel like Cheech,
And I’m kickin’ it wit’ Chong.
Every night I pray to God: ‘Please, no more wack MC’s.’
Keep bustin about where you rest, and what you own, and what you drive.
So the day some niggaz come for you, I’m really not surprised.
Now we feel the good vibrations…
So many females, so much inspiration.
I cannot stand no wack MC.
So step back if you please,
And don’t test me, you’re history.
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.
It don’t make sense: either you a soldier from the start,
Or a actor with a record deal tryin’ to play the part.
We don’t just say “No”, we too busy sayin’ “Yeah!”
To drinkin’ straight out the eight bottle…
Do I look like a muthafuckin’ role model?!