Jim Jones: Talking to the world

I grew up in the 'jects, five inch what I pressFry way to hold a tec, live bait I'm so brazy manIn them pissy staircases, we just sittin hereWaitin with them crystal clear cases tryin to make a saleWhen that wreck came around, I'm in the trench with my poundI'm pitchin you cracks and the bench is my mound (what's good)It ain't no freezin this game, I'm in the freezin the rainTryin to make G's off the 'caine so I can freeze up a chain (Jacob!)Or put the Spre's on the thang (spinners!)So I can speed through the game (vroom!)That's why I think kinda different, and some think that I'm twistedCause I smoke too much, and I drink 'til I'm twisted (I'm on point)I'm tryin to maintain to stay afloat (that's right)Cause that main game of shavin coke is goin down the tubes (that's a wrap)That's why I'm downin booze, I stay surround by dudesThat chew down my food, bon appetit - chow time[Jim Jones]The purple, HAZE, keep scorchin and burninNightmares at night I wake up in sweat, tossin and turnin (I can't sleep)I'm light on my sleep, I can't get a wink, I might miss somethinI think if I blink I might miss somethin (what happened what happened)Constantly rollin up haze (uh-huh)As I stomp through this block man they throwin up treys (Eastside)We from the streets, know the struggle, know the hustleKnow the hook, know to cut it, know to double (know that price)Now if you don't change your mind, change your grindDon't get caught in the facade, don't get caught up on a charge(Don't be facin six) You know that life goes byJust as fast as them nights goes byHold fast, them blue and whites go by (SQUALIE!)We movin white, whole piesHope to God that the law or the vice don't ride (SQUALIE!)We been trapped in our own hustleYou see the government's the powder but the crack is our own hustleWe smart ain't we?[Jim Jones]Sheeit, the heat's in the kitchen, I speak to you listenThe beef if it thicken the heat'll stay clickin, believe that?I'll be burnin water, while I turn the corners (uh-huh)I'll be more than gone as {?}R.I.P., man that's kind of redundantNiggaz, dyin off dumb shit, bullets fly when the gun spitPlus, man they ridin to dump clips (yes sir!)In hooped up whips, the place miss and I scoop up withthe eighth in 'em, they shoot up shit and straight get 'em (boom)They chew up shit like straight sick 'em (sick 'em)Over that turf or strip, or that work the bricksWe'll squirt the shotty, and disperse your squad-dy (woo)That's the code of my landOver that blue and them grams, niggaz blowin your man (we gon' get 'em)Get you all shot over hoes for a grandMan, death is so cheap in my hood - short paper