Prelude

[Intro] The riots in Los Angeles have written a sorrowful page in American history [Verse 1] This ain’t hip hop, this apocalypse Velvet glove over the iron fist Pulitzer Prize composer, accomplished ghetto novelist Risk taker, Ye shrug, no consequence This ain’t no consciousness, leave niggas unconscious quick Nonresponsive, common sense say that the corners is bent Stay cautious, a whip for 5 percent tint On the other side of that window, in addition to extended clips Plenty endo dip, enough to make a nigga flip G rise, with teenagers high inside With no license to drive, coincide with Gentile times Modern day Babylon, the Great Harlot Fornicated with the nations and gave birth to the garden Circa 1956, they finished the bricks Two year prior my grandmama left Mississip Cause they was hanging niggas, burning niggas quick Jim Crow laws got too thick, she called it quits (What a transition from Jim Crow, South To projects, Nickerson Gardens) Compton imperial housing development Seemed like a great place for her to settle in So she did, and her kids had kids Fifteen years later her grandson helped start the Crips That was Michael Concepcion, yeah my interconnections Stuff of legends, street nigga heaven We in the late 60s, early 70s Eventually J. Edgar tried to ruin the black legacy Infiltrated the Panthers, pumped drugs in our vicinity We got high, and lost all sensibility Ronald Reagan was Cali’s governer then Ten years before Oliver North I ran contraband Scam, that’s when the world first heard of Ross Freeway Ricky got rid of weight quickly Rewind back in the projects, niggas got busy Seven niggas changed the course of niggas in history A shotgun and Molotov, whole block was engulfed There’s certain things I had to leave off Bounty hunter Watts, firmly established Harassing Wattstax and festivals A sea of red rags, they would clash with reputable crip facets And each direction had em surrounded Concrete assassins, the bucket of blood, no leader amongst thugs Bottom feeders and scrubs is all but one slug away From being enlisted in the pantheon on the street, graced Then the 80s came and introduced crack cocaine To the vein, the south central poked pain In the air, atmosphere exploded Like nuclear radiation every hood corroded From variations of rock, and early rap exposed it You get the message That’s a triple entendre wrapped in a metaphor for the labor pains felt by my mama [Outro] So it’s like, your family’s history And the streets birthed you Gave birth to who you are Projects, crack 80s, streets, the hustles It’s all in your blood man Where’s the story? This is your view from the project window Your project window