Corner Store

This a Cadillac slap and Zach is back Actually active, no time has passed Every second reckon that we wreckin' failed, don't ask And they question what we reppin' like we some new jack We sons of the slums and the dumb don't pack Cause we run no straps, guns cause no nap Cause we all asleep 6, 4 feet deep You feel that heat?, no Santa Ana winds Gin's and the juice, G funk made us loose I just hit 'em with the truth n' not only in the booth I hit 'em real honest you can call me Boothe Maybe Abe let me, spit it all through In the tube, on the web, in the streets, "on a ledge" Wait, my bad, sorry Rakim In a tent, in my village, I was bred in "The North" What I meant; I'mma kill it, then dump it at the shore... By Pierpont, then im'a go for more Open up a business, probably a morgue Cause I tore and I ate, all of these beats I need produce for songs, the kid just wanna eat Pleasssse, generic, I just love writing Written's, soul, require no timing Time for rhymes with no blindin' and circles with some binding Climbing, grinding, won't hit my thresh But I'm content, cause Christ killed my flesh And I'm deafened by the decibels of all the debt he paid N' Death talks, evil stalks so we just play But gauge that, no ears, what ya gonna do? Follow ya maker, get up from the pew So proof ain't in the henn but the proof in you Thought you knew jack man?, you don't Hugh