[...I think underground is
whatever, your mood or your feelings might be at the time
So long as it's the truth... truth... truth...]
Verse One:
I could tell the pimped-est story
About street homicide, and make it sound gory
Cause you know, shit be happenin everyday
And then on the weekends twice as much shit comes into play
So I better watch my back or
I might get caught up, in a fuckin crack war
So I use the back door, cause the front ain't safe
Seven different brothers got stuck and I don't wanna be the eighth
Don't make no sense
Walkin through my own neighborhood I feel tense
Don't wanna carry no gun
Cause the cops be stoppin us, and pattin us down just for fun
So, the only protection I got
Is my smitties, but how many kids get shot
Fuckin that throw up your hands shit
And fight like a man but he don't get to land shit
Not one punch, the only hit
Was when his head hit the concrete, got knocked clean off his feet
Got a lot of blood on they shoes
But they got that Rolex, and jumped in the cruise
Late model Sedan, either blue or black
Was the only description, no plates in the back
I know one thing, they ain't from around here
But what block would dare to come down here
Stickin up shit, must be new jacks
Trying to get a rep, they better watch they backs *echoes*
[...they better watch they backs *gets steadily louder*]
[Guess what happened to me when I was wa-walk-wah-walkin down the street]
They better watch they backs!
Verse Two:
Cause my man Shiloh, is out on the prowl
With some East Medina, brothers that's foul
Lookin to protect, the streets that our mothers
Have to walk on, from black young brothers
It's bad e
