[Intro]
Is it still, is it going? (Yeah yeah)
(Alright) So we gon’ do this one like for the RattPack and shit, is it recording?
Alright for the real hip-hop mothafuckas, you know what I’m sayin'?
(Yeah yeah) Shout out to Bobby, my engineer
It’s a nice night in L.A
We're recordin' this mixtape and shit, workin' on the album at the same time, you know what I’m sayin'?
Visionary boy
Yeah yeah, uh, yeah, we gon’ do it for 96’ (yeah)
We gon’ do it for hip-hop (yeah second renaissance type shit check it)
[Verse 1]
Who would have thought that painting pictures ’bout being broke
Would get me riches like dealing coke?
Like big brother used to do so we could stay afloat
I heard them guns outside my window, them gangsters would tote
Thought about the life I wanted, picked up the pen and then wrote
While they was firing, you could hear sirens
From people dialing 911 crying in the phone
I was in the zone, trying to make a living
Heading to work in the morning
Everyday felt like I was mourning, as my dream was deceased
Until I quit my job, then my work ethic increased
Elevated to levels I ain’t ever seen
Stacking this cream, living the American dream now
I’m going crazy, I ain’t slept in days
Dreaming of Michael Jordan money like I slept in J’s
Always shouting out my team ’cause I get all the praise
But they the ones that motivate me on depressing days
See I’m from Maryland where cats draw gats like animation
From the smallest altercation, that can lead to termination
With a rapper on every corner, like the rest of the nation
Passing bars back and forth like legal examinations
As a youngin I was running wild
Me and my homies skipping school, puffing on that loud
Doing shit just to do it, ’cause we wasn’t allowed
I thought I understood the world, but I was still a child, yeah
Now when my mama was at home drinking, thinking ’bout the bills
I was dreaming ’bout the mills, running round looking for thrills
I guess this is how it feels when your memory spills onto the page
And paints a picture of another age
Back in West Deer Park, chilling with shorties after dark
‘Cause when the sun is down, the police always want us down
‘Til we get older and hustle, now they try’na gun us down
We just trying to make a living off of what we’ve been given
Wassup
Is it still, is it going? (Yeah yeah)
(Alright) So we gon’ do this one like for the RattPack and shit, is it recording?
Alright for the real hip-hop mothafuckas, you know what I’m sayin'?
(Yeah yeah) Shout out to Bobby, my engineer
It’s a nice night in L.A
We're recordin' this mixtape and shit, workin' on the album at the same time, you know what I’m sayin'?
Visionary boy
Yeah yeah, uh, yeah, we gon’ do it for 96’ (yeah)
We gon’ do it for hip-hop (yeah second renaissance type shit check it)
[Verse 1]
Who would have thought that painting pictures ’bout being broke
Would get me riches like dealing coke?
Like big brother used to do so we could stay afloat
I heard them guns outside my window, them gangsters would tote
Thought about the life I wanted, picked up the pen and then wrote
While they was firing, you could hear sirens
From people dialing 911 crying in the phone
I was in the zone, trying to make a living
Heading to work in the morning
Everyday felt like I was mourning, as my dream was deceased
Until I quit my job, then my work ethic increased
Elevated to levels I ain’t ever seen
Stacking this cream, living the American dream now
I’m going crazy, I ain’t slept in days
Dreaming of Michael Jordan money like I slept in J’s
Always shouting out my team ’cause I get all the praise
But they the ones that motivate me on depressing days
See I’m from Maryland where cats draw gats like animation
From the smallest altercation, that can lead to termination
With a rapper on every corner, like the rest of the nation
Passing bars back and forth like legal examinations
As a youngin I was running wild
Me and my homies skipping school, puffing on that loud
Doing shit just to do it, ’cause we wasn’t allowed
I thought I understood the world, but I was still a child, yeah
Now when my mama was at home drinking, thinking ’bout the bills
I was dreaming ’bout the mills, running round looking for thrills
I guess this is how it feels when your memory spills onto the page
And paints a picture of another age
Back in West Deer Park, chilling with shorties after dark
‘Cause when the sun is down, the police always want us down
‘Til we get older and hustle, now they try’na gun us down
We just trying to make a living off of what we’ve been given
Wassup
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