My Confessions

[Produced by Trackmasters]

[Intro]

Yo, I'd like to dedicate this to my mom, Sabrina Jackson

God bless her soul

We gon' get it on in here; nothing but real shit

[Verse 1]

Yo, shorty ain't a shorty no more; shorty be wil'ing

Shorty adolescent ass belong on the island

I went from riding big wheels to wanting to be a big Willy

Found interest in drug dealers and cold-hearted killers

Could it be it's in my blood cause my mom sold drugs?

She used to bust slugs and surround herself by thugs

Made mistakes by showing them love

And they killed her

Some friends never came to pay respects, so fuck Hilda

You know how friends do friends - like Tony did Manolo

The type of fast shit that Henry did in Good Fellas

Some snakes don't show up to weights cause they backs is yellow

When you hear talk of the Southside, you hear talk of the team

See, niggas feared Prince and respected 'Preme

For all you slow muthafuckers, I'mma break it down iller

See, 'Preme was a business man - you guess who the killer

Remember? He used to push the bulletproof BM (uh huh)

His hair'll get you seasick; I sat back and peeped shit

They roll with E-Z Wider, and they ain't get blunted

Had the whole projects working for fifty or five hundred

What about bug, who trade and them niggas had cheese?

In the late 80s push Mercedes

And Maseratis, kept reserved spaces at the horse races

Where they met Columbian connections like Lucho and Mariella

Then bookoo bucks on the horses; they used to cook and flip bricks

Faster than the jet flip flap jack and pack gats

Niggas said Ds was dipping, burned his face with acid

'Til this day, they would say the mothefucker's gasted

[Hook]

It's my confession; I make corrections; I strive for perfection

I try to be the best in, whatever I do; I'm telling you

This is my confession; I'm teaching niggas a lesson

Cause they can't do, what I do; here's my confession

[Verse 2]

Yo, a lot of New York blocks are only bringing pennies in

I stand beef - too many cheaps; too little fucking Indians

Too many sips of the brew will make you do what we do

Play with insecurities, until we start fussing and cussing

Frustration builds - few lose, and fist fights leave niggas busting

Not only do we have to look out and avoid encounters with Jake

Gotta look out and avoid encounters with snakes

Niggas who fake and play both sides of the gate

I squeeze Boyz II Men for they cheese like Michael Bivins

Slip with half a big nigga cap like Robin Givens

Coming up I heard sipping too much booze will leave you confused

And if you watch the news, you'll see some players in this game and lose

Niggas think they together; they ain't together at all

Stand on the block together, but divided they fall

A lot of niggas locked down and ain't got nobody to call

And a player ain't the same player when he can't ball

[Hook]

[Verse 3]

Yo, you better R-E-S-P-E-C-T me - the type that keep the bricks flipping

Jewels dripping, the margarita sipping - description

Nappy blowouts shaped up, brown-skinned

And ask the hood rats about my dick; the chickens recommend it

I make statements like "Try me if you want"

Presentation: cool and calm - words as if I'm daring ya

Usually roll with a 2 shot .25 derringer

I'm not an actor; my life's not a movie

I never worked with the Fugees

I'm not killing you softly; pack a small gat just to back you up off me

But later when things simmer and all sin ceases

My peoples will see to it that you rest in peace in pieces

Kill or be killed - it's what the hood teaches

Never go to church so the preachers can't reach us

And if we do, it's only on Easter

[Hook]