Chorus

I show ya how to do it now homie, cuz its ok

To make positive music now baby, put all of the guns away

I keep it gully for the streets and gangstas, but I'm trying to make a change

Cuz there's to many of my dogs and comrades, homies done past away


Coming up in my early days, I was raised around blacks and essays

And thugs wit short tempers that are quick to spray

Then throw up a gang sign reppin they set

I'm from the west man, this is bout as hard as it gets

Tha projects saturated wit drugs and dealers

And the streets consist of the guns and cold killas

It's bad enough man the odds is against me

And homies in the hood just wanna bang and smoke hemp trees

They say the only way for me to push Bentley's is ride and bust bullets till the whole clip empty

All these demons slowly trying to tempt me

You'll never make a difference bone, but God sent me to

Revolutionize the style the used to

And reach all of the gangstas in them khakis and zoot suits

Came to try to make some of you open your eyes

And realize what really happens homie after you die


Will the killing ever cease, it's like we got a sick disease

That makes us, pack a piece, in these cold heart streets

Gotta break the generational curse, hurts to see these young brothers getting hauled off in a hearse What's worse, is we promote it though songs and movies

Banned the passion of the Christ, but endorse glocks and Uzis

Then we wonder why are kids is dying, bullets flying

Gangsta's riding and gangs multiplying, at such fast rapid rate

Could it be all the hero's man kind create

We teach children how to murder in these video games

So all they do is imitate what's inside of their brain

Cuz to them all of the killing is cool, so they pack in the backpacks then shoot up the school

And then leave them other children wounded and dead

Then realize what they did and turn the gun to they head


Raised in a dangerous place where thugs pack heat, creep

Throw up em blue flags, C-walk to tha beat, blast from tha jeep

Then leave you in tha back of your seat, face down in a pool of blood

Resting in peace, mark of the beast is plotting trying to leave us deceased

Bullets flying throughout our neighborhoods roaming tha streets

It's a war zone where we willing, patnas dying and got collect calls from tha prison

Twice a day, inside tha land of tha murderers crooks and armed burglars

Pimps, and curb servers and golden state warriors

That ya gotta be ready to die, gotta decide, could be facing 20 to life

In a 6 by 9 cell, in jail wit no bail, just waiting to get mail

Where destiny is hell, you should a known gangstas never retire

It's blood, blood out, homie, devil's a liar