Testo Tupac Joint - Jim Jones
Testo della canzone Tupac Joint (Jim Jones), tratta dall'album Harlem - Diary Of A Summer
Rumors that were said, shot in cold blood
Two up in my head, can't talk phone bugged
Somebody want me dead, but I'm still flossin'
I rock my jewelry through the scurriest streets
I keep my ears to the streets
And I ain't scared of police
Lord knows that I got various beefs
So could you pray for the weak
You know the wolves prey on the sheep
So we hustle everyday of the week
That's why we - up all the paper we see
We hit the clubs, - ladies for free
Getting drunk, off - the V
And every couple days we get sweeped
Around the clock, we bumpin' and clickin'
You gotta watch 'cause when they come they be blitzin'
Now, this is for my homies and my thugs (yeah!) (yeah!)
One million in the truck, and the chrome full of slugs (fully automatic!)
You - phonies, you'll get plugged (boom! Bang!)
I'm a ghetto - for life
The streets is in my blood (dipset!)
Now, this is for my homies and my thugs (yeah!)
One million in the truck, and the chrome full of sluts (fully automatic!)
You - phonies, you'll get plugged (boom! Bang!)
I'm a ghetto - for life
The streets is in my blood (byrd-gang!)
Ya - dyin', while you other - is hidin'
Might be strapped, but you runnin' and ain't ridin'
So I'm slidin' to the place down the hill
Where the homies is murda and when its poppin' down to kill
On the real
The only way a mother- try to survive
Is knowin' that he 'bout to die, and ride
I told Face he was the realest in the game
And he smiled and told me 'Pac was the realest that they came
In the jungle, I walk like I'm the king of the beasts
So when you duck huntin', keep movin' 'cause I'm swingin' the heat
I might go out of town, move fakin' is none of that
And never leave up out the hood, the way I can't come back
- that
Hussein in the street game frame
Life is a struggle, so with the heat take aim
I'm ghetto, don't ever think I'm him, it's not me
'Cause I love this mother-like pills in a hot tea
Now, this is for my homies and my thugs (yeah!)
One million in the truck, and the chrome full of slugs (fully automatic!)
You - phonies, you'll get plugged (boom! Bang!)
I'm a ghetto - for life
The streets is in my blood (dipset!)
Now, this is for my homies and my thugs (yeah!)
One million in the truck, and the chrome full of sluts (fully automatic!)
You - phonies, you'll get plugged (boom! Bang!)
I'm a ghetto - for life
The streets is in my blood (byrd-gang!)
Why ya act like I'm new to this?
Mack to the uzi clip
When it comes to beef, we all packed like Luis Rich
Battlin' is ludicrous, half of ya uterus
Matter fact, Jimmy, pass me the "Kufi List"
What you think - got goons for?
The mass menace at ya door like a costume ball (hello)
My flow is like when you throw a 'Pac tune on
The only time you get tax is when you cop new 'gords, dog
I make it happen with no sarcasm
So it ain't the station wagon, when you see me dodge magnums (get it?)
If I don't hit you when the clip fills
Like the show off the blind date, ya know the fifth will
Break - like big bills, when it peels
Sit still, - real, listen you a kid's meal
And I eat those, reload, heat blown
Keep those kilos, 'cause we go beast mode
Now, this is for my homies and my thugs (yeah!)
One million in the truck, and the chrome full of slugs (fully automatic!)
You - phonies, you'll get plugged (boom! Bang!)
I'm a ghetto - for life
The streets is in my blood (dipset!)
Now, this is for my homies and my thugs (yeah!)
One million in the truck, and the chrome full of sluts (fully automatic!)
You - phonies, you'll get plugged (boom! Bang!)
I'm a ghetto - for life
The streets is in my blood (byrd-gang!)
Yeah! Yunno what this is
Roll call
All the homies when you see you to try with me a suck
You dig?
Y'all can pow wild all you wants what you know I'm a straight G
Hey fail, let this - know what it'd be like
Let Pac know
This shii still goes on to another day, another doubt
And I'm ready to die for this - smell me?
You - don't know who I am
That's Jones Chapel status for you
One-eyed Willy
Goonies
Nothing left to be said
G's up, hoes dead
Catch me a trap and play it
East side
Credits
Writer(s): Bruce Washington, Joseph Jones, George Moore
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