VS1
A yo, picture me rollin', like pac in a drop gold double R, woman, champagne, weed, cigars and caviar, living tha life of a thug, moving 'em drugs, ducking 'em slugs, dealing with phones tapped wit bugs, plus, associated wit some hard hittas, cold killas, convicts, thugs and drug dealers, cop killas and drug lords stacking 8 figures, quick to pull a trigga and leave a body floating in a river, we gorillas, in this jungle collecting mad scrilla, banking on cheddar and cream from dope fiends, from a land where everybody gotta fend for themselves, half of tha mommies doing 25 to life in a cell, seems like we dwell in tha pits of hell, wit no bail, chained up, captive and tortured by the enemy's spell, who hears my cry from these lonely jail cells and what do I profit to lose my soul and gain from drug sales?
Hook
Livin' tha street life, crystal, drugs and crushed ice, hanging wit players that plan heists and roll dice, in casinos, like Bugsy Siegal, we outlaws, forever livin' illegal, tha street life.
VS2
A yo, tha street life is tha only life I know, taught to hustle these mean streets and grind to make dough, cope that 4-4, jump in tha 6-4, blast on my adversaries then end up on death row, yo, this was tha life I seen raised as a youth, where everybody smoking chronic, sippin' 98 proof, ain't no happy days and sunshine, in my hood it's just crime, crying and one time, slugs flyin', and everybody tryin' to come up in this evil drug game, insane, visions of murder just increase the pain, cocaine and met amphetamine, I want out, but I gave an oath to tha death of me, so let it be, I'm a ride on my enemy, but when they bury me, I fear where my soul will be, eternally, searchin' for light patna, but I'm in tha midst of tha dark, it's so hard, when you in this ghetto prison, looking for God.
VS3
Another homey die so I wipe the tears from my eyes, and ask God how many lonely painful tears will I cry, seems like nobody even care about here in tha hood, I tried to get a job, but they swear I'm up to no good, misunderstood from a young age, on a rampage, from an adolescent, carrying hollow points in my smith-n-wessen, for anybody second guessing if I'm scared to test 'em, ain't nuttin' even worth livin' fo', tha richa getting' richa and tha ghetto remain poor, liquor stores and tha gun shops, and everybody wonders why my thugs pack glocks and kill cops, full of hurt since birth, why was I placed on this earth, seems like everybody in tha ghetto is cursed wit a curse, and what's worse, is that my patnas dying at a fast rate, dear God can you help me out, I'm looking for an escape.
