(The beat is dope)

(Yup)

(Word to the mother)

(Ah yeah)

(And it goes a little somethin like this)

(Good God)

(The beat is dope)

(Yup)

(Word to the mother)

(And it goes a little somethin like this)



[VERSE 1: W.C.]

How ya livin, a brother kill another for a color

Now his family's forced to sit and suffer

Gang violence strikes again, the sound of a trigger

News at 11, now it's one less nigger, they figure

Self-destruction, bro, you're goin low

How can you kill a person you don't really even know?

In jail you played hard until one slapped you silly

Turned you over like a girlie and rode you like a sissy

Trapped behind bars in the middle of nowhere

Doin 10 to 20, braid another brother's hair

On the streets you was dope, you wasn't a joke

Nobody could cope, you was the king of the dope

Shoot a brother in a minute, man, that was your duty

But now you're in jail, just givin up the booty

Spread em, I'ma show you what it's like in a jail

I kick reality, this ain't a crickett fairytale

You said you had heart, homeboy, how do you figure

Can you prove it without keeping your finger on the trigger?

You'se a punk, a peon, a buster, bound to run

Never usin your fist, always grabbin a gun

Trigger-happy with the gat, brain stiffer than a manakin

Shot an old lady, but you claim it was a accident?

Drop the sawed-off, you must be illin

I got a question, homes, how ya livin?



[VERSE 2: W.C.]

The beat is dope, so I come off smooth, no need to yell it

Now what I seen on the streets, I gotta tell it

Smokers on the corner at the rock house shack

Tryin to scuffle up some money for a 10 piece crack

And this is critical, pitiful, life has become more difficult

Children on the corner holdin automatic pistols

Taught and trained at a young age to kill another

But the bad thing about it is, we're killin each other

Brothers killin brothers over man-made material

It's a like a epidemic, better yet venereal

Only if you knew that we was dominant original

We'd be prepared mentally as well as physical

Some say to make it though, it's gonna take a miracle

But they can't hold you back, brother, when you're spirtitual

Drop the 40 ounce, you must be illin

Yo Aladdin, break it down while I ask em how they're livin



Yo

Let me tell you bout this crackhead I know



[VERSE 3: W.C.]

Booby was a crackhead smokin that dust

Like a fool, he was a sucker I never could trust

Used to let him in my house, he didn't need no permission

Until my goddamn VCR came up missin

Sprung on the pipe like a fish on a hook

Yo, Booby got labelled as a neighborhood crook

Seen him with a color TV in his hand

Walkin down the streets sparked, lookin for the dopeman

Skinny as hell from just hittin the pipe

Lost his job, his two kids, the beautiful wife

He'd sell his mother if you gave him a chance

Long as Booby got a piece of crack in his hands

Hey yo, you know what's sad, or should I say it's a shame?

The way c-r-a-c-k destroys the brain

Think - somebody wanna see these things

Another dumb brother just smokin cocaine

Suckin up crack until your lips turn purple

From rehab to rehab, you're runnin in a circle

It's mandatory I touch this category

That's why I made it simple, self-explanatory

It shouldn't take long for me to state what's on my mind

Why should I sit and write a 10-minute-long rhyme?

Hey yo, drop the 40 ounce, you must be illin

So I conclude this rhyme with how ya livin?