[verse 1:]



I got this coffee pot of white soap

stuck my hanger down the center 

when I entered I spent it cause it was like dope

But on the real-a he was jackin' me for scratch 

cause out of 36 ounces this motherfucker brought me 20 back

I'm slanging 20 sacs cause I done lost 16 

and these goddamn streets aint going to bring me back

Now could it be the southside big baller

Bolo rock slanger stones done got slaughtered-damn 

I'm going up on my whole thangs

And stepped on don't go runnin my clique cause it's a old game

And all I ever wanted was some hundred stacks

I went from slangin' o-z's to movin' hundred sacks

Gotta make my money back

Cause I done came too far up in these goddamn streets

to get my money snatched

I'm so for real about this motherfuckin skrill 

that any obstacle obscuring my paper is gettin' killed

For real



[chorus:  ]

(scratching and mixing)

All I have is this small skrilla



[verse 2:]



I know this nigga run this game of life 

So motherfuckin sheist that at night he got to sleep with lights

Cause he done come across with shit so shade

that mutha fuckers comin with clips to locate him

Aint no waitin and once they spot him they gon' sure face him

and once the got him they gon' sure waste him

This aint no mutha fuckin joke nigga it aint worth it

and even if your mother gets in it you cant surface

It was all purpose 

just like that bullshit you was serving it was all purpose

We all chipped in nigga and we all hurting

I gots to grind just like in eighty-nine

when a niggas 25 cent pieces look just like baby dimes

I'm on the corner selling whole eights

I don't remember being this fuckin paranoid since I sold weight

I went from 50 sacs to 50 packs

And all because this motherfucker got jipped he wants to jip me back

But when I find him I'm gon finalize him

Just to let a nigga know I'm for real and down to die for mine

And I'm for real about this mutha fuckin skrill

that any obstacle obscuring my paper is gettin killed 

For real



[chorus]



[verse 3:]



Game made to be swift since eighty-six when I started

Seems like niggas with hustle got outsmarted

Cause now they wanna analyze they homies for scratch 

Catch them when they sleeping come down and up scrap

And even though I plotted hittin' niggas for ends

I never took out straps and shot gats at friends

It was all about being for real where I was from 

Where very few niggas came real but I was one

I dedicate this to my homies stuck in battle

Living life being caught up in this mutha fuckin' gamble

The game made to be changed but the niggas still started

Cocaine seems to be blamed for the niggas gettin slaughtered

How many times you had your homie shot 

By the same mutha fucker whose game came from your homies block

Niggas get caught up in the paper chase 

and lose respect for the game 

that was honored before the cake was made 



[chorus]