A lot of my Eastside partners are dyin' fast
And it ain't for natural causes fool they catchin' a blast
Tim Yogi Bruce and James
pick up the newspaper fool and it's all familiar names
Brothas i grew up with and do up with
Partners killin' partners man that's the cold shit
Gots me spooked to hang with the fellas
Cause you never know when the nextman's gettin' jealous
Cause I've seen some cold shit:
Brothas gettin' killed over the words of a bitch
Now tell me what that be like, player
But in the Oaktown ain't no rules, nigga
Everything's fair, hah!
And the main fact is a bullet
He's got his finger on the trigga
And he'll damn sure pull it
This defines ghetto mentality, right?
But it all so got a player runnin' for his life...
I walked to my homie's funeral last week
Tears rolled down his mama's cheek
And it made me think:
I never tripped when i was gunnin' and funnin'
But the things i did in past got me duckin', dodgin, runnin'
And it ain't that i'm scared but if a fool starts to blastin'
It ain't like I'm gonna stand there
See, moms allready lost my brotha
So I keeps my vest on when I roam in the gutter
But we droppin' like flies
What's goin' on the Eastside can't be denied
Remember when we used to box?
But nowadays we grabbin' A.K.'s
And be bringin' down the whole block
And little kids gettin' gaught up in the crossfire
Before he reaches a teens he's expired
12 years old and it's a damn shame
Layin' in the middle of the nearest lane, hah!
And it brings tears to my eyes, damn!
We got'em runnin' for their lifes..
