Family 1st

[Hook: Masta Ace]

All my people 'round the way

If I see you on the block, on the corner, in the park, in the summer, I'ma say

"Don't go"

And let you know that this goes out to y'all

All my people in the hood

If I see you in the mix on the ave, all the fellas and the chicks I'ma yell

"Don't go"

And let you know that this goes out to y'all

[Verse One: Punchline]

Where I'm from it's money over bitches

Don't be cool with snitches

Cause like the tax man they try to get you for your riches

Never burn bridges or exchange digits

Keep it real cool but yet still keep your distance

Don't fuck with outsiders (Why?)

My stay in they mouth cause like a child on punishment, I keep it in house

My style, I never run out

Get murdered and ridiculed

Your fam's mourning you in all black like Hasidic Jews

Attitudes arrogant

You're scared to speak and

Your palms shaking just like a former greeting

I'm like time creeping

Y'all see me and run

Y'all need some heart like John Q's little son

I'm number one

Y'all back down once my squad came

Y'all cats fold like bad hands in a card game

We not the same

I'm deading your work

And y'all niggas can't eat cause my family's first

[Hook]

[Verse Two: Apocalypse]

They had us using bad words in pre-K

Seen a lot of things done the wrong way on the ave in BK

A young nigga turnt out before the teen years

Virgin lung, bust cherry off skunk and green beer

After that I seen clear

I wrote a song about it

In my blood, now my lifeline I can't live without it

The people look to me like I'm hope in the flesh

What they don't know is what I think about myself is less

This is chess not checkers

I'm over block politics and running out to fiends, yo I choose to sell records

And y'all the type of dudes to rush and drop garbage

Me and my associates stay eating regardless

Winning in the pros while you losing in the novice

The Rookie Of The Year called Apocalypse

Far from sweet, I spread cuts through your crew all day

Shed blood and no love, that's the Brooklyn way

[Hook]

[Verse Three: Masta Ace]

Yo, if you got a couple of grand, I got a hot sixteen

I got a shawty at the crib and she not 16

Understand that I'm over you dudes like umbrellas

Ain't nothing you dumb fellas can come tell us

We sit at home lounging, collect checks in the mail

While we up in the spot, y'all waiting to exhale

But keep breathing, cause you still in the preseason

I'm knee deep in the game nigga, you keep sleeping

And I'ma be wakin' ya up like No Doz

You assed out like no clothes when I throw bows

And come at my immediate area, I'll bury ya

So don't make me take it there like a carrier

I know y'all wanna be street, don't let it worry ya

First leave them gators alone like Steve Spurrier

And take your mind back to the days with no doe

Hit the block, keep it thorough

Find your people on the ave and yell it out

[Hook]