So I did this and a couple other joints a few hours ago, got hit with the flu or some shyt yesterday, so my voice felt off like shyt. You brehs think I should keep this or scrap it & do it over? Criticism/Feedback will be dapped & repped whether positive or negative. This is an album cut, not a single. Let the track play through, it's long, but it's worth the listen if you're into lyrics. (The bolded parts of the verse, I left pics in the post referencing it.)
The main theme of the album is street life & what it leads to, I'm trying to balance the album to have enough mainstream "ignorant" shyt to catch a wide fan base, and litter the album with jewels like this here & there. The first 2 verses are about my life from 2006-2008 & how I was running the streets with my crew, before doing any real time. My right hand man (Seven, a G-Unit affiliate) was older, caught a case with a mutual "friend" of ours, who eventually testified against him & got him 25 years.
I go into detail about his situation, on the following track after this one, called "Seven's Kite". Last verse, over the alternate beat, is the "Die Slow" portion of the song, where I'm describing some of my prison experiences from 2008-2012. And talking to the listener, telling him about the consequences of living fast & how being in prison is equivalent to dying a slow death.
Enjoy.
LIVE FAST
LYRICS:
VERSE 1:
Yo growin up in the hood, just my dogs & me,
We used to hustle in the hood for, all to see.
Problems, I called on them, they called on me.
When drama on, that sawed off solved all our beef.
Brung em to my moms crib, where we all gon eat.
And vice versa, then we gone all week.
Caught in the streets like a maze.
Eighteen, and not sleeping for days.
Just B&Es, coke, divas & haze. Throwin up C's to the grave.
Some gunplay, never ceased or amazed.
Me & D.J. was D.Wade and James. Shoot first, ask later, nikka.
Emperor Palpatine & Vader nikka...But how did Cain do Abel, nikka?
Betrayed a nikka, like Jesus & Judas. Caesar & Brutus...
Cuz every King eventually meet his ruin.
But for now, I'm riding in black, blind to the fact...
That good times'll turn to time from a rat,
Hiding inside of my pack.
HOOK
Uh...Live fast, die slow, nikka...
Go to work, get cash & lie low, nikka...
You either die, or get bagged, by 5-0, nikka...
If you ain't tryna see the reaper, why sow, nikka?
(x2)
VERSE 2:
Young boys, listen up and catch a word from the wise.
You just a bird, flying turbulent skies, so let this verse be ya guide...
At 19, when you was working wit fries...? I had Mafia and murderer ties.
No need to hurt'cha with lies, it's all true. Had a killa small crew.
Seven nikkas, all blue. And you know how Paul do,
I was the rhyme writer...Mastermind...Live wire...
Get out of line, and that 9 fire.
Coke boys turned to crack. Dope points turned to packs.
Broke boys ratted, so the dough boy turned to rap.
Had labels watching...Radio play, the stations jocking...
Made a rap crew, D.O.O.M. Squad, and they was poppin.
Met a nikka named Sev, from the Unit.
My old head, so we broke bread, like communion.
Soon, him & D.J. had caught a case together.
But little did I know, it'd change all of our fate, forever...
HOOK
DIE SLOW:
Verse:
Yo what chu know about state prison, sittin in the hole?
For 6 months discipline, winters getting cold...
shyttin where you live & eat...Pissin in your bowl,
No visits, sendin kites like, "I didn't get parole..."
Flashback, ya snitchin co-defendant getting bold...
Your lawyer last minute, say ya nikka went and told...
Letters never written, cuz them bytches just to bone,
Sick, calling out to God...no one picking up the phone.
Loan sharks on the yard, pullin stickups when you prone...
Flesh getting ripped, from the situps in a zone...
Flesh getting RIPPED, over tickets, and them bones.
When the feds taking pics, someone isn't getting home.
You waking up from nightmares, of witnesses alone...
And victims in ya close case, sentence you wit chrome...
Get up and you hit the track, twisted in ya dome,
See a nikka get stabbed, soul lifted out his clothes...
Them crackhead fakkits? Yeah they called fiend lizards...
Talking through a wall? Turned to on-screen visits...
County jail bid, til the court deem prison.
Where ya freedoms hard to find, but the morphine isn't.
Four gun towers, you get clapped, from the skies...
Race riot, cuz blacks & latins wit pride...
He almost made it home, but his pack made him ride.
Earthquake just happened, and they trapped us inside...
A mile from the middle of it...This all a fact.
V.A. in 2011...Check ya almanac.
We brawled in the mess hall, like oppressed dogs.
Them guards need stress balls & the best jaws.
Them...nikkas wit no bytches be hoarding the porn,
I'm...lifting outside, wether scorching, or storm,
Those...shirts & them denims that you ordered get torn,
By a...G who been locked, since before you was born.
Don't give a fukk about your charges, or the drugs in ya home...
If you ain't bailing out today, get the fukk off the phone.
For nikkas razors do your face, like Deadpool.
You'll be a med school guinea pig, broom left him wit red stool.
The years going by, shyt get ugly and heavy...
Now all your so-called friends, Al Bundy and Peggy.
Ain't no money on your books, just jail ball...
Tryna cover up the pain wit tattoos, muscles and mail call.
Finally got a letter from this shorty you was fukkin wit.
Way before prison, nutted in her, then you ducked the bytch.
Caught a case, never saw ya kid. Shoulda stuck to script.
P.S., the baby ain't yours, nikka suck a dikk.
Now ya jaws drop, you can't even condone it.
Memories haunting you, hopped out the V and unloaded...
Hit him 6 times, the father of her seed, in the open...
And threw your whole life away, caught in the heat of the moment.
Damn.
Click to expand...
