I know you can feel the magic, baby
Turn the motherfuckin' lights down
Esco, whattup? (Whattup, homie?)
I mean, it's what you expected, ain't it?
Let's go… uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh
Turn the music up in the headphones
Uh, yeah, that's perfect (Yeah, right)
Uh, we got to take our time and make a nigga wait on this motherfucker (Hahaha!)
Make niggas mad and shit like
Niggas usually just start rappin' after four bars, nigga, go in!
Start dancin' in this motherfucker
Yeah, (Yeah) we just come outta nowhere
I feel like a black republican, money I got comin' in
Can't turn my back on the hood, I got love for them
Can't clean my act up for good, too much thug in 'em
Probably end up back in the hood, I'm like, «Fuck it then»
Huddlin' over the oven, we was like brothers then, though you was nothin' other than a son of my mother's friend
We had covenant, who would've thought the love would end?
Like Ice Cold's album, all good things
Never thought we sing the same song that all hoods sang
Thought it was all wood-grain, all good brain
You wouldn't bicker like the other fools talk, good game
Never imagine all the disasters that one good reign
Could bring! Should blame the game
And I could, it's kill or be killed, how could I refrain?
And forever be in debt, that's never a good thing
To the pressure for success can put a good strain
On a friend you call best, and yes, it could bring
Out the worst in every person, even the good and sane
Though we rehearsed it's just ain't the same
When you put in the game at age sixteen
Then you mix things: like cars, jewelry, and miss things
Jealousy, ego, and pride, and this brings
It all to a head like a coin, cha-ching
The root of evil strikes again, this could sting
Now the team got beef between the Post and the Point
This puts the ring in jeopardy – indefinitely
I feel like a black militant takin' over the government
Can't turn my back on the hood, too much love for them
Can't clean my act up for good, too much thug in 'em
Probably end up back in the hood, I'm like, «Fuck it then»
I'm back in the hood, they like, «Hey Nas»
Blowin' on purp, reflecting on they lives
Couple of fat cats, couple of A.I.'s
Dreamin' of fly shit instead of them gray skies
Gray fives, hatah's wishin' our reign dies
Pitch, sling pies, and niggas they sing, «Why»?
Guess they ain't strong enough to handle their jail time
Weak minds keep tryin', follow the street signs
I'm standing on the roof of my building
I'm feelin' the whirlwind of beef, I inhale it
Just like an acrobat ready to hurl myself
Through the hoops of fire
Sippin' 80 proof, bulletproof under my attire
Could it be the forces of darkness against hood angels of good that forms street politics?
Makes a sweet honest kid, turn illegal for commerce
To get his feet out of them Converse – that's my word