Jail Shit

(álbum: Monkey Barz - 2005)

[Sean Price:]
Who this? Sean Price, groovy shit
Catch a body cop out to a two to six
Lesser charge, yo, don't even stress the sarge
That's my girl pops, why you think she bless the God?
Weed and dope, anything you need to smoke
For the Kings, Ñetas, triple B's and Locs
Five Percent niggas, aiyo, peace God
Knife in ya hand, trynna get a damn piece, God
Ain't nothing left to do, but pull out ya piece, God
Dig in they face, until you tear out a piece, God
Hearing some things, overall, fearing no things
Set it off on a German, do a year in the bing
You done grow dreadlocks, did a bid in the bing
You done blown head bop, turned queer in the bing
You should hang it up, pa, can't take this stuff
But wait, pops died, go to wake in cuffs

[Rock:]
You come home to the streets, niggas raising hell
Fighting, cutting, damn it's the same as jail
Only the grimey get over, ain't no making bail
Get torn out the frame, if ya frame is frail

[Sean Price:]
I hope and pray my first born, be next to parole
Tired of lifting weights, playing chess with stones
I'm tired of things, tired of the riots and gangs
Tired of the jack mac, calimari and Tang
When I come home, ma, I swear to God, I'mma change
But when I, come home, you know the God won't change
I'm bluffing for real, girl you know the fuck is the deal
Soon as I touchdown, I need to puff on the real
Bang my first floor, pa, never focused, free
But caught a violation for smoking weed
As the cop escort me, as I troop to a cell
With a smile, but inside I'm feeling stupid as hell
Man, I'm 29 going on 30, kid
Can't be getting locked up for no dirty dick

[Rock:]
You come home to the streets, niggas raising hell
Fighting, cutting, damn it's the same as jail
Only the grimey get over, ain't no making bail
Get torn out the frame, if ya frame is frail

[Sean Price:]
My life is in danger, my son set it off on the imam
Niggas being easy, how the fuck, can you be calm
Looking bad, son, them niggas deep as hell
Realizing all my motherfucking peeps is frail
It's just me, Killa, Rum Dick, Psyche and Will
Dee and a crackhead named Mike from the ville
If I die, yo I'm going out with knives in they grill
All my motherfucking life I've been real, yo

[Rock:]
You come home to the streets, niggas raising hell
Fighting, cutting, damn it's the same as jail
Only the grimey get over, ain't no making bail
Get torn out the frame, if ya frame is frail

You come home to the streets, niggas raising hell
Fighting, cutting, damn it's the same as jail
Only the grimey get over, ain't no making bail
Get torn out the frame, if ya frame is frail