Ch

Down in my area, chk a chk uh.. real shit nigga uh

It's the ROC

Yeah... Free... yea uh feel me.. Pa pause

Yo.. yo





I was born in west but migrated to north

Remember cold nights grindin' AK and a toss

Four door for the stick up boys if they want war

Fiends comin' all night all I heard was four more

Rocks in the cap

When it was jumpin' me and Rell hit dances

You could pick me out the crowd rockin' the cap

But things change

Cause my man Rell fightin' a body

On state row where it's so cold

Rockin' his blues

I roll with the ROC

Still trynna rock at a show

Shit aint like 98' niggaz pockets is low

Which way do I go?

Indictments blew over

Man whipped a few shoulders

Shovel nick boulders gettin' it slow

Me, I'm in the studio switchin' the flow

Changin' the styles

My son and daughter need pampers

Cause they just shittin' them up

And changin' the size

My man Just quipped the Jags

See the change in his eyes





And I eat, sleep, buy, sell - drugs

Cause I'm just another victim of the ghetto

When I rob, steal, lie to get money, bust slugs (shots)

Cause I'm just another product of the ghetto















My man blingin' platinum wheel, platinum gat

Took a trip down south came back with platinum caps

I'm still trynna write platinum raps

But made a slight change from verse one

Started jugglin' packs

It's like I'm travelin' backwards

Rewindin' the time

Putting four on nine

Must be outta my mind

(uh) nine, get it outta my palm

Just grab four and a half get it outta my trunk

Free we need you at the studio

Out to lunch - out on the block

These niggaz just pulled out on my man

And the only rock I worry bout is right on my face

We bout to go shake, rattle his block (shots) with no plans

Shots fired, cops came

But I'm a grown man

I stick around till my clip is empty

Cops threw me on the ground

When my clip got empty (shots)

Now bars is all I see a thug is all I'll ever be









I got, 11 in I was facin' a dub, got nine left

My click show love they write back

My cousin M's son, little Di he's so grown

Said he hold chrome, run blocks, and write raps

Wrote him right back

Told him I control the bones

Try to play the phone

We could rhyme and hold wax

Leave that drug shit alone

Don't forget you grown

It'll put you places where your mind can't get you back from

Little nigga aint write me back since

Still supply the jail

L.Pridgon you got mail

It's probably all the letters you wrote him

What you mean?

All the fucked up shit you told him

This shit from my cousin Emily I'm quotin' (uh huh)

Right out her letter

Little Di, got popped in the head trynna steal a nigga leather

That's what the cops said but the streets could tell you better