[Intro: Big Rube]
The feeling of being 12 years old and waking up in the middle
Of the night and somebody in yo room
Your heart starts beating so fast, you can hear it pumping
The veins in your temples pulsate as you stare at the intruder
Then after a few minutes, you realize he ain't moving
So finally you let 'em hang and turn on the light
And the killer turns into your coat throwed over the chair
The feeling of sitting at the red light early in the morning
And two or three motherfuckers cross the street
Your senses heighten, reflexes sharpen, vision's enhanced Adrenaline flows
As they rush across the street, you leave the print from the heater grip in your palm
Then your heart rate and breathing drag back to normal as you realize these niggas just going to the store
Many of us mistake phobia for true fear
Whereas fear is a gift from God to be used for self-preservation
Phobia are obstacles strategically placed in society by opposers of positive existence
Through stereotyping, innuendo, false documentation, and glorification, they'll turn your fear switch to a permanent on We can change this by changing the small truth within the lie
Death is a small price to pay for respect
Death is a small price to pay for respect
You know who it is; you know what it is
Peace out
[Verse 1: André 3000]
In these troubling times, a nigga like me be thinking of rhymes
That makes my quarters, nickels, plus my pennies and my dimes stack
Don't be looking for trouble, it be finding me
Try turning the other cheek
I understand but never mind that
Yes sir, guess the light is getting dim
At the end of the tunnel tried to hit me for my rims
I never thought thirty spokes could attract so much attention
I gotta protect my own therefore I'm heated just like a kitchen
Full of pots and pan, Glock's in hand
Shots, rung out like ringin' the bells
And then that sucker nigga ran
Damn, I never thought that it would come to this conclusion
The folks that throwed us on them boats should be the one's I'm bruisin'
But naw, we don't see it that way
In '94 this is the real, it ain't no time for play play
Better believe the playas on the loose
Need to get they head screwed on tight
When it really get down to the nitty grit, who gon' fight?
Pipe, down
'Cause ain't no better time to crank it up than right now
We gots the Seagram crunk down here
And I don't hear nobody disagreeing
Orga-no-i-z-e, Mr. D.J. and me and Big Boi
The feeling of being 12 years old and waking up in the middle
Of the night and somebody in yo room
Your heart starts beating so fast, you can hear it pumping
The veins in your temples pulsate as you stare at the intruder
Then after a few minutes, you realize he ain't moving
So finally you let 'em hang and turn on the light
And the killer turns into your coat throwed over the chair
The feeling of sitting at the red light early in the morning
And two or three motherfuckers cross the street
Your senses heighten, reflexes sharpen, vision's enhanced Adrenaline flows
As they rush across the street, you leave the print from the heater grip in your palm
Then your heart rate and breathing drag back to normal as you realize these niggas just going to the store
Many of us mistake phobia for true fear
Whereas fear is a gift from God to be used for self-preservation
Phobia are obstacles strategically placed in society by opposers of positive existence
Through stereotyping, innuendo, false documentation, and glorification, they'll turn your fear switch to a permanent on We can change this by changing the small truth within the lie
Death is a small price to pay for respect
Death is a small price to pay for respect
You know who it is; you know what it is
Peace out
[Verse 1: André 3000]
In these troubling times, a nigga like me be thinking of rhymes
That makes my quarters, nickels, plus my pennies and my dimes stack
Don't be looking for trouble, it be finding me
Try turning the other cheek
I understand but never mind that
Yes sir, guess the light is getting dim
At the end of the tunnel tried to hit me for my rims
I never thought thirty spokes could attract so much attention
I gotta protect my own therefore I'm heated just like a kitchen
Full of pots and pan, Glock's in hand
Shots, rung out like ringin' the bells
And then that sucker nigga ran
Damn, I never thought that it would come to this conclusion
The folks that throwed us on them boats should be the one's I'm bruisin'
But naw, we don't see it that way
In '94 this is the real, it ain't no time for play play
Better believe the playas on the loose
Need to get they head screwed on tight
When it really get down to the nitty grit, who gon' fight?
Pipe, down
'Cause ain't no better time to crank it up than right now
We gots the Seagram crunk down here
And I don't hear nobody disagreeing
Orga-no-i-z-e, Mr. D.J. and me and Big Boi
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