Red-rum spilled from my fingers, y’all knew it.
I’d sling a four-five when I walked my street. Nobody messed with me. I owned the alleys and gutters. I kicked the trash and the homeless outta my way. If someone got all up in my grill I was knuckled up and ready. Nobody ever wanted none of that.
I wore my tats and colors. People saw who I was. They respected me. They feared me. They never dissed me. I had a bad rep, I’d earned it. I’d offed people and everyone had heard it. I’d spent time in the yard, celled with gangstas and felons. So had my crew, that’s understood. It’s a fact of life in my Cali hood.
I rolled the marks who didn’t belong. I’d stick ‘em or slug ‘em. Leave ‘em lyin’ behind dumpsters, jacked up and bleedin' out. You didn’t war with me or my homies ‘cause we’d war right back.
I had CAR-15 burners and the muscle to use ‘em. Five-o left me alone. I bought 'em. I owned 'em. They ran from me when I rocked my stuff. They looked the other way when I told ‘em.
I locked up my street and all of my hood. I tagged my places so you knew you were in my house. People cowered before me. I ruled ‘em.
But all my power was whack next to the blood of the cross.
All my power was whack next to the blood of the cross.
I kept a candy shop and swam in green. They all wanted my hydro and bricks. They ran to pay me. Fools stood in line just to buy my dimes. I’d turn a hundred Gs and not even blink. I could drop a mil in a night and smile as I did it.
I’d flash my roll and all the peeps knew me. They’d treat me like god, grinnin’ and smokin’ my blunts. I’d buy rounds for my crew and longnecks for my honeys. We’d party like there was nothin' else ‘cause we could. Y’all can’t understand what it was like to be flush in my Cali hood.
I wore Armani and my girls dressed in Gucci. I shopped in Milan and Paris. I could, so I did. I didn’t let no un-pedicured feet near me. It was luxury and I liked to blare it.
I’d floss my drop top Porsche on the boulevard. Then cruise my ride to my G-4 hanger. I’d jet my crew wherever they wanted. To Hawaii, to Africa, to the Virgin Islands. We were pimpin’ large ‘round the whole world.
Shaq had nothin’ on me. I had bling on each finger, he’s only got three. I wrapped gold ‘round my neck and wrists by the pound. The rock on my lobe put Tut back underground. I had three iced Rollies and didn’t even care who wore ‘em.
But all my wealth was jack next to the cost of the grave.
All my wealth was jack next to the cost of the grave.
The women all wanted me. They thought I was smokin’. They liked to stroke me and kiss me. They’d walk past me all actin' like bait, it was a never endin' chick parade. I had my choice of 'em all. I booked ‘em and called ‘em whenever I craved some.
They were fly with their painted smiles and whitened teeth. Their eyes had more sparkle than the ice I gave 'em. They shook their thangs when they stepped, in a way that hypnotized. They had fizz in their skin and when they touched me, whoa.
All my hotties wore vickies round their booties and busts. Wrapped tight in silk to show every curve. They’d press against me in the clubs and on the floor. Tryin’ to get me to give 'em some more. I’d get ‘em twisted and have my fun.
I’d toss the hood-rats and steal the cuties back to my crib. We’d dance and grind to the tunes on the radio ‘til three. Then we’d be freakin’ in the romp-room ‘til the mornin’. I knew more flesh than any man should.
But that mack was busted after the touch of an empty tomb.
That mack was busted after the touch of an empty tomb.
My life was snatched by the Vine who kicked-off death, Jah.
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