Yo, son, tell 'em about that bullshit they put you through
[Big Noyd]
Yo, son, word is bond, dunn
Sometimes I wish I had three different faces
I'm going to court for three cases in three places
One in Queens, Manhattan, one in Brooklyn
The way things is looking, I'ma see central bookings
Facing three 3-to-9's is mad time
After ran concurrent for assault and 2-9's
I gotta maintain 'cause stress on the brain
Can lead to a motherfucking suicide thang
And plus my probation, a ill violation
How the fuck did I get in this tight situation?
I'm going all out, you know, moves I never fake
And fuck the jake, they can catch me at my wake
And if I die, burn a bag of blade
Put the lye in the air, sometimes I just don't care
[Prodigy]
Son, I got plans, power movements, get on some rude shit
I keep living like this, I might lose it
My man's coming home from doing long ass bids
What up, Kiko? I ain't seen your ass since we was kids
It's all strange; my niggas locked down thinking long range
And see their names in the Daily News third page
They sent a kite to my nigga Killer
It only took one sword to put seven holes in his squealer
A 3-to-9 spending most of his time inside the bing
Reclined, and still came home with his shine
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