Cornflakes (Deluxe Edition Bonus Track)

(albüm: Rise & Fall Of Slaughterhouse - 2022)

[KXNG Crooked:]
Yeah
These streets is cold, nigga
They killing niggas in parked cars and shit
Keep your head on a swivel
Keep that machine on you
Yeah
Live life and rap about it
Rap about it, nigga

I could lay niggas flat as a underscore (But)
It's my art I want you to love me for
I could show you the guns I brung to war
Why would I jump off the roof for the feds and hang myself with a bungee cord?
Long arm of the law, don't let them suckas reach us
Some of you haters, spectators, leaving your nose bleeding, in the upper bleachers
And you rap niggas, fuck your features (Word)
The God flow touch your speakers, you need to come to Jesus
Don't count the bars on this one
So many fire lines, it's gon be hard to pick one
I'm just baring my soul over guitars and kick drums
You remember every word I record, wait
Let me tell you a story, September 23rd is my born date
Little Crooked, shaking roaches outta my cornflakes
Nothing trendy, all my fashion was worn late
Mama's smoking a joint, getting higher than the divorce rate
My pops was a navy vet, overheard him yelling "We ain't got no money, them crackers ain't pay me yet"
We was in crazy debt, I could see why he maybe left
His white counterparts running, and he taking baby steps
Mama's solo now, she's throwing Aretha Franklin
She dance around with a smile, but underneath, she aching
I'm being ignored in class, I think my teachers hating the value I placed on
Education's depreciating (Drop out)
My brother started slanging dope, gave him hope
It's like they gave him more life when they gave him coke
Yeah, he bought me a starter jacket, my favorite coat
My cousin was banging, he told me "The streets ain't a joke" (Nah)
Then he put a gun in my hand
Yeah, rusty .38 with tape on the handle

Bumping NWA, starch in my dickie pants
Yeah, bad boy at the party doing my itty dance
Yeah, if it ain't about hoes, I ain't have any plans
It was me and my nigga, Bo, my man fifty grand

He had a beef with his older brother, shot him over nothing
Hunnid tears dropped as he told his mother
Damn, why he do bruh that way?
One in the pen, one in the grave, she lost two sons that day
I bought two guns that day
Nah, I'm lying 'cause I didn't buy 'em, man
We hit a lick at the pawn shop
Drove a crackhead's truck right through the front
Non-stop, glass crashing, it sound like a bomb drop
Alarm going off crazy, I grabbed the duffel bag
With some watches and jewelry and it ain't got a couple mags
Bounced out of that bitch, went to my uncle's pad
Thinking I'ma end up in jail, just like my brother's dad
Damn, it's the environment, bro, crime is a full-time job
Ain't no retirement tho
Old man told me, "Your generation is violent for sure
And the cemetery's the only place you dying to go" (Go, go)
And he gave me a book
Called "The Destruction of Black Civilization" by Chancellor Williams

Opened my mind to some knowledge I never had before, yeah
Started reading more books, went down a rabbit hole, yeah
All your ignorant questions, I got the answer for
Like, "Why y'all stuck in the hood, acting like animals?"

Poverty's pandemonium, red-lining the properties
Probably that colonial cologne you got on, I could smell racism in the institutions
The victimizer victimize ya and say "Stop being a victim"
The shit's confusing
So when I be cruising the Benz, that shit is a big illusion
You writing songs about your diamonds, my gems are in the music
Unify today or you can die today
To keep them roaches outta your cornflakes, you decide the way
But if you go down the wrong road, you know how the story go
(They got ya)
Say hello to the homie Bo (Hey, what up?)

Niggas homeless and hungry but they don't want us doing crimes
Stole the whole fucking country but we the ones who doing time
Keep my third eye open, I pay attention to the signs
To my homies that died, see you on the other side

I see y'all on the other side
Not now, I got a lotta story left, you know
East Side