How Ya Livin’ Low Profile

(The beat is dope)
(Yup)
(Word to the mother)
(Ah yeah)
(And it goes a little somethin like this)
(Good God)
(The beat is dope)
(Yup)
(Word to the mother)
(And it goes a little somethin like this)

[ VERSE 1: W.C. ]
How ya livin, a brother kill another for a color
Now his family's forced to sit and suffer
Gang violence strikes again, the sound of a trigger
News at 11, now it's one less nigga, they figure
Self-destruction, bro, you're goin low
How can you kill a person you don't really even know?
In jail you played hard until one slapped you silly
Turned you over like a girlie and rode you like a sissy
Trapped behind bars in the middle of nowhere
Doin 10 to 20, braid another brother's hair
On the streets you was dope, you wasn't a joke
Nobody could cope, you was the king of the dope
Shoot a brother in a minute, man, that was your duty
But now you're in jail, just givin up the booty
Spread em, I'ma show you what it's like in a jail
I kick reality, this ain't a crickett fairytale
You said you had heart, homeboy, how do you figure
Can you prove it without keeping your finger on the trigger?
You'se a punk, a peon, a buster, bound to run
Never usin your fist, always grabbin a gun
Trigger-happy with the gat, brain stiffer than a manakin
Shot an old lady, but you claim it was a accident?
Drop the sawed-off, you must be illin
I got a question, homes, how ya livin?