I Stand Accused

I see I'm peeking out ready to rumble So now I'm speaking out Against those That flip the way the story goes One never knows Who be flippin the script Whatever the traitors name My aim is dunk em like I'm Chris Webber So many phony smilin faces Traces of slander Got em comin outta funny places I had it an hear em Talkin loud behind my back What was good for the hood Is what they say is wack I take the stabbin & grin When I'm hit Cause I know the suckas smile When I leave em What I'm comin wit I can't complain about the money Although the suckas in the back They talkin shit An laughin like its somethin funny I aim to make changes An never change Unless its for the better Cause I always been a go better Clean hustler Rhyme instead of muscle ya Born when ya thinkin I'm gone The terror era is on... I stand accused To the crews I paid my dues I stand accused I refuse To stand and lose I stand accused To the news I kick da blues I stand accussed I refuse I hear em talkin & walkin Behind my back I'm attacked Fuck the knife in the back Cause it feels like they got an axe Yeah I can dig it wit a shovel I never dig dirt wit the devil Instead I'm on that other level But I took time to reach down To help the black & brown I never stood around I hear em talkin behind My mind In a ocean of sharks And a back full a hackmarks They say I'm fallin off Yeah, they better call it off & get muscle & find another hustle quick Sick n tired of critics But I can take a hit I'm all man Alley oopin the vocal on jams But they dont know it They can blow it & take a puff of dis joint I see I'm kissin it off the cuff Behind the back I'm pullin axes and blades out the arms & the legs Still my fellas get paid The terror era is on Fuck a critic/fuck fuck a critic All the fuckin critics Can get the did dit All a fuckin critic does is Draw a fuckin line Cross a line and dis my rhyme & then they ass is mine If you find a critic dead Remember what I said Who killed a critic Guess the crew did it Say paybacks a crazy ass message Sent to the writers who criticize They're fuckin wit afreedom fighter Who raises flags & dragged the klan in bodybags I hung em up in Missisippi & bum fuck This is Chuck so what the hell You think I did it for To open doors from Carolina to Arkansas And lemme let em I met em I told my boys forget em An what they did got rid of me Negative But 94 got stunts & blunts in da mix I hear the crowd fallin vic To old ghetto tricks But if I wasn't your cousin Wed leave em in the dozens Of sellin out & bellin out Half pint 40 ounce Announce to the rest We had a fall out I never took a drink Never took a hit or bribe Or got spread by what a silly Rumor said Never sang or gang banged Sold out or rented hip hop Cause I know when to stop