Father Teaches Son
Posted: Fri Jan 26, 2007 4:38 pm
this is just a piece ive been workin on the last hour or so, just kinda keystyled all this. just tired of the gun shit in battles n all, maybe hope to show ppl, life is more then how big ya gun is, so its whatever..enjoy...
son -
my money game was always thin,
growing up in the projects/
comin up the legit way,
to me has always been nonsense/
when i needed some dough,
id start flippin rocks/
but thats a dangerous game,
when you ain't spitten glocks/
so i copped one for protection,
figured i would expand my business/
and i made a coulpe g's,
by the time i was finished/
but a few times down the line,
i had to clip a few haters/
creepin on my block,
i dont allow no invaders/
it was a way of life,
it put the food on my table/
people ask me why i did it,
shit cuz i was ready and able/
i dont take shit,
u creep then u meetin the sket/
the street will teach u some shit,
but the main thing is respect/
dad -
i see the shit daily,
young bucks is doin what i did/
i expected it from the rest,
never thought itd be my kid/
all the rock slangin,
translates directly to gun bangin/
i grew up doin this too,
it aint all fun n gamin/
but now im lost,
as i look my man right in the eyes/
thinkin he's doin the right thing,
tryna help us survive/
no clue how to make it clear,
no man needs a gun/
as i provide the best i can,
for me and my son/
i found his gat in the dresser,
no idea where he copped it/
serial numbers scrapped off,
and thats a hood politic/
so u know hes in deep,
him n his friends cover they asses/
so its gonna be hard,
to climb them out of the ashes/
son -
i find myself stuck,
the street games addicting/
im tryna find an out,
what part of my life am i missing/
ive always battled on the block,
but so does everyone else/
and even when i do that,
cant leave my gat on the shelf/
i gotta stay strapped,
cuz i make the rappers angry/
when i wreck em on the mic,
they still point the heater at me/
theres gotta be something safer,
i aint no bitch but im stressed/
cant walk out my door,
without thinkin of death/
keep my gat under the pillow,
keep my cozy at night time/
everyday i hustle rocks,
and in the evening i write rhymes/
im startin to hustle less,
cuz the street game is stressful/
my gun is my bitch,
but my mistress is a pencil/
dad -
hes gettin into this rap shit,
so i hung a mic in his closet/
hooked it up to a pc,
so i could give him an outlet/
show him how to mess with beats,
and now hes on the streets less/
puttin money in the bank,
from gettin tapes n cd's pressed/
and now i just lost my job,
but it aint makin a change/
cuz we makin mad loot,
and im livin off his name/
but once the block has its hold,
it aint easy lettin go/
people callin him bitch,
cuz he aint in the streets no mo'/
so i said son,
life is more then shootin guns n sellin drugs/
u dont need any of that shit,
u aint gotta be thug/
i grew up here too,
and i found a way out/
without half the skill,
u have when rap comes out ya mouth/
son -
now im at a cross roads,
and my reps on the line/
im sick of sellin dimes,
and im sick with spittin rhymes/
i almost cant go outside,
thugs took over my territory/
but once i left i couldnt expect,
it would still be there for me/
so i leave the house,
to sell some cds down the street/
dudes jumped out the alley,
musta been like 5 deep/
beat me the fuck down,
and left me for dead/
found a way to get up,
with blood leakin from my head/
get back to the crib,
get myself patched up/
grab the heat from my room,
ready to spray they ass up/
as i head for the door,
my old man steps thru/
sayin gimmie the fuckin gat,
why? cuz i said to/
dad -
u dont need this fuckin thing,
to handle your beef/
here let me show you,
so i took him down the street/
askin him all about it,
who it was n where they chill at/
he said right down the way,
you know where the crips at/
we got there he pointed him out,
his boys came with him/
lookin like a ghetto boyband,
they all steppin in rhythm/
i stepped in the middle,
said step the fuck back/
handle this one on one,
throw away ur fuckin gats/
fuck fighting, have a battle,
step up n be a man/
i looked back at my son,
do the best that u can/
they started spitten,
and let me say, u aint heard nothing realer/
my son ripped his ass,
like if it was Kulprit vs. Jay Killah/
man -
when all the battle was over,
the beef was put to rest/
we both shook hands,
and took off our vests/
as a sign of respect,
and how we both felt safe/
but i aint stayin here long,
im off to win this paper chase/
i learned a lot of shit that day,
u aint gotta hustle to live/
u just gotta work hard,
and find something legit/
we got home i grabbed my gun,
but there was something about it/
suddenly i felt like,
more of a man without it/
so we took it apart,
threw every piece in the lake/
spoke to god every night,
repented all my mistakes/
and i knew if i had beef,
i can handle it on track/
cuz i spit a hot 16,
dont matter from a pen or a gat/
ya still dead.........
links -
http://illestlyrics.com/board/caught-up ... t3280.html
http://illestlyrics.com/board/dp-plex-m ... t3346.html
http://illestlyrics.com/board/vendetta-pt-1-vt3333.html
21
son -
my money game was always thin,
growing up in the projects/
comin up the legit way,
to me has always been nonsense/
when i needed some dough,
id start flippin rocks/
but thats a dangerous game,
when you ain't spitten glocks/
so i copped one for protection,
figured i would expand my business/
and i made a coulpe g's,
by the time i was finished/
but a few times down the line,
i had to clip a few haters/
creepin on my block,
i dont allow no invaders/
it was a way of life,
it put the food on my table/
people ask me why i did it,
shit cuz i was ready and able/
i dont take shit,
u creep then u meetin the sket/
the street will teach u some shit,
but the main thing is respect/
dad -
i see the shit daily,
young bucks is doin what i did/
i expected it from the rest,
never thought itd be my kid/
all the rock slangin,
translates directly to gun bangin/
i grew up doin this too,
it aint all fun n gamin/
but now im lost,
as i look my man right in the eyes/
thinkin he's doin the right thing,
tryna help us survive/
no clue how to make it clear,
no man needs a gun/
as i provide the best i can,
for me and my son/
i found his gat in the dresser,
no idea where he copped it/
serial numbers scrapped off,
and thats a hood politic/
so u know hes in deep,
him n his friends cover they asses/
so its gonna be hard,
to climb them out of the ashes/
son -
i find myself stuck,
the street games addicting/
im tryna find an out,
what part of my life am i missing/
ive always battled on the block,
but so does everyone else/
and even when i do that,
cant leave my gat on the shelf/
i gotta stay strapped,
cuz i make the rappers angry/
when i wreck em on the mic,
they still point the heater at me/
theres gotta be something safer,
i aint no bitch but im stressed/
cant walk out my door,
without thinkin of death/
keep my gat under the pillow,
keep my cozy at night time/
everyday i hustle rocks,
and in the evening i write rhymes/
im startin to hustle less,
cuz the street game is stressful/
my gun is my bitch,
but my mistress is a pencil/
dad -
hes gettin into this rap shit,
so i hung a mic in his closet/
hooked it up to a pc,
so i could give him an outlet/
show him how to mess with beats,
and now hes on the streets less/
puttin money in the bank,
from gettin tapes n cd's pressed/
and now i just lost my job,
but it aint makin a change/
cuz we makin mad loot,
and im livin off his name/
but once the block has its hold,
it aint easy lettin go/
people callin him bitch,
cuz he aint in the streets no mo'/
so i said son,
life is more then shootin guns n sellin drugs/
u dont need any of that shit,
u aint gotta be thug/
i grew up here too,
and i found a way out/
without half the skill,
u have when rap comes out ya mouth/
son -
now im at a cross roads,
and my reps on the line/
im sick of sellin dimes,
and im sick with spittin rhymes/
i almost cant go outside,
thugs took over my territory/
but once i left i couldnt expect,
it would still be there for me/
so i leave the house,
to sell some cds down the street/
dudes jumped out the alley,
musta been like 5 deep/
beat me the fuck down,
and left me for dead/
found a way to get up,
with blood leakin from my head/
get back to the crib,
get myself patched up/
grab the heat from my room,
ready to spray they ass up/
as i head for the door,
my old man steps thru/
sayin gimmie the fuckin gat,
why? cuz i said to/
dad -
u dont need this fuckin thing,
to handle your beef/
here let me show you,
so i took him down the street/
askin him all about it,
who it was n where they chill at/
he said right down the way,
you know where the crips at/
we got there he pointed him out,
his boys came with him/
lookin like a ghetto boyband,
they all steppin in rhythm/
i stepped in the middle,
said step the fuck back/
handle this one on one,
throw away ur fuckin gats/
fuck fighting, have a battle,
step up n be a man/
i looked back at my son,
do the best that u can/
they started spitten,
and let me say, u aint heard nothing realer/
my son ripped his ass,
like if it was Kulprit vs. Jay Killah/
man -
when all the battle was over,
the beef was put to rest/
we both shook hands,
and took off our vests/
as a sign of respect,
and how we both felt safe/
but i aint stayin here long,
im off to win this paper chase/
i learned a lot of shit that day,
u aint gotta hustle to live/
u just gotta work hard,
and find something legit/
we got home i grabbed my gun,
but there was something about it/
suddenly i felt like,
more of a man without it/
so we took it apart,
threw every piece in the lake/
spoke to god every night,
repented all my mistakes/
and i knew if i had beef,
i can handle it on track/
cuz i spit a hot 16,
dont matter from a pen or a gat/
ya still dead.........
links -
http://illestlyrics.com/board/caught-up ... t3280.html
http://illestlyrics.com/board/dp-plex-m ... t3346.html
http://illestlyrics.com/board/vendetta-pt-1-vt3333.html
21