No One To Blame

(albüm: Forty Eight - 2018)

Feel this
There's no one to blame

Sleeping on a old couch
Working at the dopehouse
Mean the real dopehouse
With the people coked out
Eyes looking poked out
Like they saw a fucking ghost
Switch to the pipe 'cause they tired of the bloody nose
Troubled souls comes and lows like a herd of buffaloes
Last week a couple hoes tried to sell they mother's clothes
Damn, this is quite a drug
I could probably buy a club
Maybe even rims that are so big the tires rub
See, I come from the land of think twice and you're gone
I seen a young man die with a dice in his palm
It's a gambler's life
You betting pieces of freedom
Or the paramedic yelling, "Kevin, he isn't breathin'"
Now the dream is defeated and you surrounded by demons
But is Hell like in prison with more Browns than in Cleveland?
Or maybe I shouldn't ask, I'm holding this cooking glass
And plus I know I'm fucked if they bring up my crooked past

No one to blame
This is our hood
We did our thing
The best we could
No one to blame
This is our hood
We did our thing
The best we could

Quarter chicken roaster, bragger, not a boaster
You would brag too if you had a rollercoaster
Plus a gold toaster
Sign of the low-ster, how you don't know me?
I'm the thug on your poster
JD the chosen, competition posing
Rain, sleet or snow, dopehouse isn't closing
Front teeth frozen
Diamonds on my toothbrush
Living in the land where they dying for a few bucks
Or 'cause a motherfucker's mouth needed brake fluid
Wanna see Hell? Bitch, I'll show you straight to it
Hanging out a gray Buick
Killer and a crack chemist
Call me menace 'cause I represent on every sentence
Purple lettuce, medicine
Yeah, I got a weed fetish
Right handed pimp, so I leave your left cheek reddish
Hanging with the pedigrees, full-blooded get-it boys
White cake, hard and dry, something wrong if it's moist

No one to blame
This is our hood
We did our thing
The best we could
No one to blame
This is our hood
We did our thing
The best we could

I have been a dopeman since about the late '80s
Working eight ladies, sucky, fucky, but don't make babies
Not stone cold but they call me "Rock Hustler"
God is a Glock so I'm not a clock puncher
I do sweep streets and I'm cooking little patties
Please drive to the window, I put 'em in a baggie
Rock stars saying "We have marvelous sophists"
And when I lock keys in the car it's on purpose
My art is a service, why listen to mimics?
Niggas talking 'bout the game and never lived the specifics
See, the bricks is in Civics, it's not in Sixes with bitches
This is friends killing friends, the most wickedest business
At the Kilo Olympics I was the all-time medalist
Only took nine shots and I dropped five elephants
You know 'em for the music but I'm a legend on blocks
Plus the microphone king while y'all pretending I'm not

No one to blame
This is our hood
We did our thing
The best we could
No one to blame
This is our hood
We did our thing
The best we could