Ten Times To

10 years of bullshit, I don't need anotha 10. Want me to make my career a criminal gangsta, fuck you, everyone I knew and know either lock'd up or stranga's. I'm just fortunate enough not to get bang'd on, whoo bang'r. It can be lame from one side of the games eye, but for real though, you'd rather see tear drops and cries. Hearst, mortuaries, graves of guys. Women on sideline thinkin' and wonderin' why, men act this way until we show'em why. It's part of livin' this life I lead, skippin' steps forward only brings you back more hurt. The more the dirt, the more foes at work, same reality with a twist on style and gravity. You either pull or reject projectiles unaccurately. Shift the position and regress by listenin', scriptures and testament by dressin' a rhythmic confession, stems a pandemic progression of a short life of lessons. Two steppin', body rockin', '64 hoppin', jammin' down the block with your heat, waved, cock'd, the heatwaves scorches when he says "pop", drop'em and let the body bag rot. You got him but the bullets don't stop, a lifer when the hood smells pot, they blame you cuz they higher when the cops four five'em, arrest and play the "who shot?", indict'em. Now, who's hidin', you got more pride and you caught a cold siren. The alarm rings when snitches evolve into a sting, They'll bite you, in the end they cling, whatever is left is up to you, your thing. As for me, I'm here, standin' taller than fear, no one can solve me, I'm clear. When I look out, I see another decade of two path to steer, black and white, good and evil, torn between the two, only choice left is beyond the attitude askew.