Dead Presidents ft. Theory KYLE

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(Verse 1):

People depressed and self delivered, trapped up in the heat
Won't stop on the beats till we don't starve in the streets
The laws of defeat, don't understand why we follow them
We get home and get stoned, thats what the fucking problem is
Take off like a rocket ship, won't come down til targets hit
I broke the mirror holding me back as a narcissist
Holding private conferences, fulfill empty promises
Bush talkin shit, but we had funded what Osama did
Glamorized slaves if we chasing the golden chains
#Kevin #Hart hasn't been the same, I put the #soul in #plane
Pumping bass still we saving pipe for life's treble
My soul had a deep conversation with the fuckin Devil
I don't do it for the industury
I do it for the undergroud rappers spitting in the streets
The other factions, hand on the black magnum
Speak English when I run through like Sam Jackson
Ransacking the Feds, pants saggin and hands grabbin
Running through Ferguson, can't handle the Grand Dragon
Shoot past like the bullet near Suge Knight's head
I been through this hood life, I'll leave you shook right there
But I got to much to lose, I need my grandma to hug me
Amongst thieves, the life of vice runs throughout my bloodstream
Refuse to stop spitting raw rhymes til my tongue bleeds
Behind the scenes to hide the drugs from the eyes of fiends