Foul From the Start

Chorus: This is goin' out to the youngstas The nappy headed gappy little rumblas The ones robbin' stores and them banks and shit Wit the tec-9 gats and them xtra clips The ones wit the Glocks, the ones wit the 45's Runnin' 'round the streets doin' homicide So peep game from ya boy Bigga Figga And let me tell ya how the shit go 1978 A young nigga born, growin' up around the way Born without a daddy shot in the proces Vietnam war, cause he didn't wear a vest Moms was broke, no money in the bank Cause when they was young they used to smoke a lotta dank Been graduated to the dope and the booze Couldn't afford milk, couldn't afford shoes Livin' in the projects not tryin' to get out Wellfare is poppin' and she's tryin' to find a spout Son coming up and seeing this shit No time for school cause he gotta pull a lick By this time he did to my click Tomorrow is the first and they all wanna flip Red light bandit's caught red handed Now we in the hall when they left his butt stranded Councelor, councelor can I use the phone? Now he kinda scared and he wanna call home No type of guy that's in no type of teaches ... tried to warn him but she seems she couldn't reach her ... Goin' to the ramp, sorta like a summer camp In a few weeks he get a home-pass soon When he hit the streets man you know he gonna boom Moms can't tear him off nuttin' but a hug But a few close homies gonna show a little love A dub sack here and a dank sack there Who ever said that life was fair Now he got a warrant cause he didn't wanna go back P.O. ain't shit and he ain't cuttin' no slack Now he on the streets and he can't be slippin' Cause at the hall we got a y.a. commitment It ain't gettin' better it's only gettin' worse I stroke a bad luck, better yet a bad curse The system is set for us to straight failures Ask the O.G's any black man will tell ya On the way to comin' up, got about a G And about 2 O's two more will make a QP Gangstas watch ya back, homies gettin' down One more week he be on a half a pound That's half of a half of a cake ya know Gettin' so large they need to call him Mr. Blow Or better yet, call a nigga Mr. B12 Gettin' clientele for makin' the shit swell Cause back on the street there's a drought on the shit Got to make some money, so it's time for a lick Watchin' out for the neighbourhood baller, a little bit taller Then the next nigga tryin' to pull a motherfuckin' trigga Plottin', scheming, waitin' for the beamer To pull up so he can run up and put the gun up To the dome, so we can get the cash flow But little did he know that the baller was a pro And waitin' for jackers and all type of niggas Wit automatic trigger just waitin' to give a Rat-tat-tat and a pop-pop at a young buck Now he stuck and they couldn't give a motherfuck Chorus