Testo On da Run - Craig Mack
Testo della canzone On da Run (Craig Mack), tratta dall'album The Mack World Sessions
Ayo, God bless the dead, you know? (Rest in peace)
And all my cats I know with the football jerseys on
Don't have no regrets
Hold them numbers (Hold them down, God)
Big up to the Feds, you tried to catch me in '88, nigga
Ha, Funk Flav, Mr. Mack (Ha)
Ayo, I can't face goin' to jail
'Cause my life is bullshit, man, nigga, fuck payin' bail
Shit is on the third rail
On my tail is the Feds, baby, Frank Perillo for Club Med
Niggas wanna kill me, God
Scared I might rat these niggas and trap these niggas
If the Feds wasn't watchin', I would clap these niggas
I mean put a bullet through the fuckin' back of these niggas
Phone ringin' off the hook, probably tap my niggas
See the headlines now, "Mack found in five rivers"
FDR, thinkin', was it better when I didn't buy the car?
And didn't cop the bar
And didn't buy my girl mother a new Jaguar
Shit, my moms got the Continental R with the backseat bar
Talkin' 'bout, "My son's a star"
Little do she know, I'm Caesar on the world's thickest tar
Crack is dead, I'm sellin' X instead
Bitches in my bed'll fill your ass with lead
And keep givin' me head 'til the tip turn red
Sit back and watch me butter this bread, it's my life
On the run
Best three words to describe my life, make the game my wife
On the run
Hustler, born and raised, in the streets where I spent my days
On the run
Best three words to describe my life, make the game my wife
On the run
Hustler, born and raised, in the streets where I spent my days
I told my main chick, "Pack your bags," she ain't listen
Chrome started whistlin' and turned to Christian
Blew up the whole house usin' nitroglycerin
But the Expedition in the garage was missin'
Move the nannies and the kids to a new position
Intuition gave me suspicion
Shit is murder, do I kill myself and fuck them niggas' satisfaction
Or demand action, pull out toast and start blastin'?
Young niggas askin', wise cats only give a fraction
Streets is a young man's attraction
I dug myself into a hole, into a world that's cold
Pimps, players, bitches, ballers, hustlers, drugs, guns, and thugs
Million dollar homes like Capone's Persian rugs
Gentlemen with fake hugs turn to slugs
I'm a made man, paid man, show no love
Clock's tickin', plot thicken
Probably written in a book somewhere, my fuckin' life ain't fair
So either way, I'ma make it off this earth without a trace
So if I ever see the judge, I'ma spit in the bitch face, on
I'm on the run
Best three words to describe my life, make the game my wife
On the run
Hustler, born and raised, in the streets where I spent my days
I'm on the run
Best three words to describe my life, I make the game my wife
On the run
Hustler, born and raised, in the streets where I spent my days
Ayo, faggots
You know what I'm sayin'? All y'all sweet cats
Know what I mean? (Uh-huh)
Real gentlemen don't need it (Real hustlers don't need it)
Real ballers don't need y'all (Check it)
It's strictly drive-through window meals
Enemies lurkin' every crack and crevice, eatin' rocks for breakfast
With no time for music, carry toast and use it
See your house and ooze it, test your life and lose it
You heard Gotti, shit is all fucked up
His family didn't even wanna check him, disrespect him, neglect him
Ain't a place to correct him, disconnect him and stretch him
Why the bull cop police protection? Shit is questioned
My suggestion in the game of deception, to reign with aggression
Keep the guns for collection, the whores you undressin'
Keep 'em inside the Best Western, you want a firm investment?
Nigga, go have a kid and let 'em eat your steak
Don't make the same mistake, hope you hear this song when I'm gone
You'll be like, "Poppa Duke was the man, but his life was wrong"
Gunned down off the top like Kong
I'm on the run
Best three words to describe my life, make the game my wife
On the run
Best three words, ha, ha
I'm on the run
Best three words to describe my life, make the game my wife
On the run
Hustler, born and raised, in the streets where I spent my days
Mack
Uh-huh, on the run
On the run
Hustler, born and raised, ha, Mack
Credits
Writer(s): Craig Mack, Domingo Padilla
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