But its funny how the game on some real shit try to teach you, while the streets try to beat you, haters steady tryna defeat you. Its funny to me, nose in the sky they say Im stuck up, but I got my own problems and could basically give two fucks.
Who she sucked off, who he fucking it really doesn’t matter, when Peco knocking at the door that should cut all the laughter…I got bills, aint tryna fuck a nigga gone have me taking pills, waking up in cold sweats because of last night’s thrills.
He talk about he that bol, tryna figure whether to be wit the whores or the sluts, meanwhile Im stressing tryna get these kids ice cream from a truck
And its crazy they ask where daddy at, I tell em you busy, tell em you making moves all around the city, but you on the same block been there for ten years, played all my MJB albums and yet I aint never shed a tear, cuz dick that low aint worth the tissue to dry my cheeks off, aint worth the carpet on my stoop that I wipe my feet off.
Done fell in love with a hustler, but I aint read the disclosure, and now I see you in the streets and cant keep my composure
And the next nigga came along and said the same thing that you did, so I thank you for schooling me he tried to do what you did. And I done long replaced you but the door keep revolving, it’s like all of you’ll the same so the problem sees no solving.
And I fell in love wit a real nigga and he got his own issues, late nights he wanted to cry but no one handed him the tissues, he scared of being you, and his chic keep his balls blue, so he call me, but I cant see this being anything but untrue.
I done chalked him to the game same way I did you, and these little girls is grown walking around illiterate, tryna play mommy but cant read the script, passin they babies off to Keisha and Lil Pookie up the street, treading the pavement so much they bear calluses on the feet, and they would’ve made they son a Jr. if they only knew his daddy’s name, but he fucked you and ducked you, charge that to the game.
Ive grown to love the sirens at night cuz they put me to sleep, a lullaby of the ghetto never learned to count sheep. We learned shit like how to hit the ground in the middle of jumpin rope, cuz the corner boys is beefing with the cats that pump dope. And them niggas aint got shame, they bullets don’t got names, so when them little kids get slain, we charge that to the game. And Lil Tony he could’ve been a ball player or something, but since his mom is a pheen and his pop aint ‘bout nothing. He gone find comfort in them bars, made a home out the streets, days of cracking cigars, sold his soul and cant find the receipt. His world is 5 by 5 and he can’t break the chains, we write letter but for the most part charge that to the game.
