[Intro]
Yo, son, tell 'em about that bullshit they put you through
[Verse 1: Big Noyd]
Yo, son, word is bond, dunn
Sometimes, I wish I had three different faces
I'm goin' to court for three cases in three places
One in Queens, Manhattan, one in Brooklyn
The way things is lookin', I'ma see central bookings
Facin' three 3-to-9's is mad time
After ran concurrent for assault and 2-9's
I gotta maintain, 'cause stress on the brain
Can lead to a motherfuckin' suicide thang
And plus my probation, a ill violation
How the fuck did I get in this tight situation?
I'm goin' all out, you know? Moves I never fake
And fuck the jake! They can catch me at my wake
And if I die, burn a bag of blade
Put the lye in the air, sometimes I just don't care
[Verse 2: Prodigy]
Son, I got plans, power movements, get on some rude shit
I keep livin' like this, I might lose it
My man's comin' home from doin' long-ass bids
What up, Kiko? I ain't seen your ass since we was kids
It's all strange; my niggas locked down thinkin' long range
And see their names in the Daily News, third page
They sent a kite to my nigga Killa
It only took one sword to put seven holes in his squealer
A 3-to-9 spendin' most of his time inside the bing
Reclined, and still came home with his shine
Lyrics provided by LRCLIB
