Sweetest Way to Die

[Verse I: Vakill] The summer was 1987 I was king of graff Wild hundreds 119th to ave I had the south locked cleverly I was stocked heavily Shoe polish, whiteline Hello my name is thick as my game Slicker Didn't need a black book I could lay out a piece off of memory Half hour flat like it was ten to me And still have time to flip my enemies names Upside down If you was toy then that was penalty From petty tags to full blown color crescendos Blackbooks to scratch bombin' the bus window I was addicted But every time I'd stopped those flames rekindled Cuz the fame's what I was mainly in for One day my niggas gave me info I was number one on the vandalism's guest list And cops is restless That's when the phone ring It was five-0 Sorry wrong number Shit it's about to be a long summer (phone ringing) Vakill: "Damn five-o, shit, i gotta think fast, gotta Get the fuck outta here" Some Ho: "You gonna answer the fucking phone or what?" Vakill: "naw, don't touch that shit" [VERSE II: Vakill] The name i made in the streets is now a name Too strong to mention I was drawing the right shit But now im drawing the wrong attention It seems like a feeling most flaunted Maybe CPD's most wanted I'm most wanted in particular by this playin' close cop Named Agon And right as the niggas he plague on That shit he caught one of my peeps And pushed him off the L platform In front of a train And now his legs gone And I already got two strikes for the same shit Three's a felony That would make my mothers brain flip In the judges eyes I'm a youth of troubled caliber Fuck community service I'll do a couple calendars I ain't built for that I ain't got that kinda frame god My brain scarred vision And that time behind the same bars Paged [?] ass twice Shit I wish this fool call (Phone rings)"what up VAK?" Meet me at the pool hall Vakill: "yo pull yo shot nigga" HOMIE: "I got one on the corner dude, whats up with this taggin' bullshit dude?" Vakill: "I'm sayin' man, I ain't sweatin' that shit, they ain't gonna catch me alive" Homie: "dude, but you ain't making no money off of that punk shit dude" Vakill: "It ain't about the dough dude, its about hip hop yo, its hip hop" Homie: "dude your looking like shit with paint chips all over your fucking legs" Vakill: "It's alright though, i'm too clever...." [VERSE III: Vakill] Quarter after nine Were creepin' home And grabs my mind I'm facing ten years of math combined And guaranteed to serve half the time Its five years too many For a supposedly graff Does that pad the crime? I need to lay low And what would do me some good Is a couple days of street separation I'm suffering from sleep deprivation Incarcerated nightmares Got me waking up sweatin' In deep perspiration I lit up a bag of boom That's when it hit me starin' As the cloud shaped weed smoke In the air I saw loomed Arming through the illest piece Then close every window in the room Till i'm consumed by the aerosol fumes Maybe jail got me suicidal Or maybe this will make me an A underground legend A sewer idol No regrets and no saying goodbye Shit i'd rather it be this way This was the sweetest way To die