(feat. Bogus, True, P.I.Crazee)



[Intro:]



(Gettin closer to God......)

(Gettin closer to God......)

(Gettin closer to God in a tight situation now)



Now what do I do? I got nowhere to turn and run and hide

Often contemplate suicide

on my mind, but it keep me thinkin

Steady drinkin, the liquor, got my shit gettin thicker

And it seem my time on Earth is gettin short

Two puffs left on my last Newport

Lock the Glock and the 9, lock one in the chamber

Danger, danger, pull the purse off a stranger



While each step walks the fine line between pleasure and pain

It causes the brain to remain sane

>From questions learned from lessons daily

Evil tries to persuade me into contemplation if I'm crazy



Probably not, but who gives a damn if I shot

I can end this bullshit in just one clock



Hold the Glock, it's still ticks left on the clock

It ain't no crock, so I shop in a state of shock



Lookin for a J-O-B, but I can't see

how I'm to survive, on $4-25?

I's, don't know what to do

I keep paging ol' G-O-D, seems like I can't get thru



Walk the night streets with my piece as my peace

Shaky face make me rethink, all these thoughts bringin heat

to the dome, makin niggas well, really will prevail

Is it better in hell or psycho in a jail cell?

Well I can't tell, hearin noises, turn to voices

I'm seein choices, none of mine rejoice this

Another day in the life of a crook

As I graze in the pages of the Good Book



[Break:]



(Gettin closer to God.....) [x4]

(Gettin closer to God in a tight.....)

(Gettin closer to God in a tight situation)



It goes a BRRRREA, stick em, HOT HOT HOT, sick em

Put em up, I gots the 9 and a ski mask, that's how I dick em

Never lag, black denim pants sag

Ain't nothin personal so put the personals in the black bag

Lie down wit'cha hands behind ya back

Don't neighbour roll cos the party's in the act

Just in case you're wonderin who's the boss?

I'm well hung to keep the shit strung like some dental floss

Cos the streets ain't nothin but a (tight situation)

In a 24-hour occupation

Just last night, a brother tried to rob ya blind from behind

when I came up the stairs, I was stuffed waist-deep

He use ta wear black sweatshirt and black skullie

Now he's lyin face down in a pitch black gully

Shit's no joke, the streets is like pneumonia

You can't shake the feel when the steel runnin up on ya



Like u-hoo, Uncle Sam?

Where the hell's the mule and the forty acres of land

that you promised to my ancestors when we was emancipated

Claim to set us free but we was still segregated

Now all thru this nation, got these black folks dropped and shamed

They locked in chains but now you know it's on again

Cos we're comin at'cha just like markets

Everytime we spark this gun, don't wanna run up on ya

And grasp this noose around your neck

Then hang you from the tallest tree up in them projects

Got our women with no welfare cheques, powder milk and butter

While our friends be on the corner sellin shit, killin each other

Niggas on tough, none tough, holler if you hear me

Gotta million black folk ready to march down on D.C.



[Interlude:]



Y'all brothers better realise that in the '95, it's either homicide or

genocide

If y'all can't find nothin to live for, find somethin to die for, nigga

And that's on the real



Takin a walks thru the streets of my city, yo

The Buddha fillin my eyes, it ain't pretty though

Blushed nose mockin the spots on the concrete

It's residue from an earlier drug meet

Concrete jungle, that's what they call it

Well each day we're raged, a-palled

Cos what it is, is a concrete hell

Am I livin in a house or a goddamn jail cell?

Bars on my windows, bars on my doors

Shots ring out and I'm divin on the fuckin fllor

What in the hell kinda way is this to live, yo?

This can't go on, somthin's gotta give



[Break]