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Songs | Albums | Album Arts
| Song: | Mexico |
| Album: | | Genres: | |
| Year: | | Length: | 257 sec |
Lyrics:
When we were kids Life Love and respect
I remember way back as a youngsta All I wanted to be was a Hustla Getting caught was never thought much of We was laughing at the cops tryna bust us
1986, Worthin' High In the back of the GYM burning fry We called it Amp Others called it Sherm Key got a dirty girl I got a perm Just some kids getting high all day And Loc rode a Horse through the hallways All you heard was the Principles loud voice Hillwood, nigga, Cocaine Cowboys By '88 all of us had dropped out We turned quick snap into the Rock House In Jr. High w? had him on a Now we V12 Whipping and patty caking Mom never thought h?r youngest Son would go to work where you need about dozen guns And a bag of rocks I remember she would brag a lot One day Meek was gonna be a Astronaut
I remember way back as a youngsta All I wanted to be was a Hustla Getting caught was never thought much of We was laughing at the cops tryna bust us
We went from little boys to grown men With AK's spraying bullets Hit the wrong men Every now and then you can catch me zoned in There's so much evil Think my city gave birth to the omen I run these streets like I got long winds Since I got slown in If you hear the song spin Back where you can hear the message lying underneath Hoping out My Momma expected her son to be From the cradle to putting food on the table Big ass flat screens and HD cables Hopped out, fresh kicks You ain't got these Little nigga in size But my mind is cocked these Me and my hustle stucked together like siamese Sometimes I wonder why I like knot knees Upside down, Y NY not me Till I hear God say They're gonna happen in my speed
I remember way back as a youngsta All I wanted to be was a Hustla Getting caught was never thought much of We was laughing at the cops tryna bust us
Getting over 'bout grams I was getting fronted 100 packs Young black lumber jack When the summer, run it back Momma was doing 10 My pops went to Pakistans Making me a target for fans I'm a mark man Smoking mo's with Watching folks trying out Respecting niggas out like so kind Sometimes I'm so calm Looking at the ghost With the gun in his palms He kept missing It wasn't my time Rats in the house like they paying rent Moving our Whores Sleeping on cement Remember running to the High School Shotty got the VK, shoes, nice town Was my home ground I never asked my nigga G how to do it king Should of been astate Mothafuckas now look at me Addictive personality A fiend for finance A mad man Governor, penitentiary, man
I remember way back as a youngsta All I wanted to be was a Hustla Getting caught was never thought much of We was laughing at the cops tryna bust us
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