(Gettin closer to God......)
(Gettin closer to God......)
(Gettin closer to God in a tight situation now)
Now what do I do? I got nowhere to turn and run and hide
Often contemplate suicide
on my mind, but it keep me thinkin
Steady drinkin, the liquor, got my shit gettin thicker
And it seem my time on Earth is gettin short
Two puffs left on my last Newport
Lock the Glock and the 9, lock one in the chamber
Danger, danger, pull the purse off a stranger
While each step walks the fine line between pleasure and pain
It causes the brain to remain sane
>From questions learned from lessons daily
Evil tries to persuade me into contemplation if I'm crazy
Probably not, but who gives a damn if I shot
I can end this bullshit in just one clock
Hold the Glock, it's still ticks left on the clock
It ain't no crock, so I shop in a state of shock
Lookin for a J-O-B, but I can't see
how I'm to survive, on $4-25?
I's, don't know what to do
I keep paging ol' G-O-D, seems like I can't get thru
Walk the night streets with my piece as my peace
Shaky face make me rethink, all these thoughts bringin heat
to the dome, makin niggas well, really will prevail
Is it better in hell or psycho in a jail cell?
Well I can't tell, hearin noises, turn to voices
I'm seein choices, none of mine rejoice this
Another day in the life of a crook
As I graze in the pages of the Good Book
Break:
(Gettin closer to God.....) (x4)
(Gettin closer to God in a tight.....)
(Gettin closer to God in a tight situation)
It goes a BRRRREA, stick em, HOT HOT HOT, sick em
Put em up, I gots the 9 and a ski mask, that's how I dick em
Never lag, black denim pants sag
Ain't nothin personal so put the personals in the black bag
Lie down wit'cha hands behind ya back
Don't neighbour roll cos the party's in the act
Just in case you're wonderin who's the boss?
I'm well hung to keep the shit strung like some dental floss
Cos the streets ain't nothin but a (tight situation)
In a 24-hour occupation
Just last night, a brother tried to rob ya blind from behind
when I came up the stairs, I was stuffed waist-deep
He use ta wear black sweatshirt and black skullie
Now he's lyin face down in a pitch black gully
Shit's no joke, the streets is like pneumonia
You can't shake the feel when the steel runnin up on ya
Like u-hoo, Uncle Sam?
Where the hell's the mule and the forty acres of land
that you promised to my ancestors when we was emancipated
Claim to set us free but we was still segregated
Now all thru this nation, got these black folks dropped and shamed
They locked in chains but now you know it's on again
Cos we're comin at'cha just like markets
Everytime we spark this gun, don't wanna run up on ya
And grasp this noose around your neck
Then hang you from the tallest tree up in them projects
Got our women with no welfare cheques, powder milk and butter
While our friends be on the corner sellin shit, killin each other
Niggas on tough, none tough, holler if you hear me
Gotta million black folk ready to march down on D.C.
Interlude:
Y'all brothers better realise that in the '95, it's either homicide or
genocide
If y'all can't find nothin to live for, find somethin to die for, nigga
And that's on the real
Takin a walks thru the streets of my city, yo
The Buddha fillin my eyes, it ain't pretty though
Blushed nose mockin the spots on the concrete
It's residue from an earlier drug meet
Concrete jungle, that's what they call it
Well each day we're raged, a-palled
Cos what it is, is a concrete hell
Am I livin in a house or a goddamn jail cell?
Bars on my windows, bars on my doors
Shots ring out and I'm divin on the fuckin fllor
What in the hell kinda way is this to live, yo?
This can't go on, somthin's gotta give
