(*talking*)

Z-Ro the Crooked, 2K motherfucking 1

This for all my motherfucking block bleeders

Fuck 9 to 5, know I'm saying

I'm talking to the niggas that gon survive

The motherfucking nine, nickels and dimes

Stracks, fifty pack, feel that, nigga get your paper


[Den Den]

Got me pissed off frustrated, you know you outta line

Plus I'm trying to count you getting high, off this Alabama tie

Falling short of my plans, so my anger is rising

Let me take out I-10, while my pressure is climbing

I can't mind on drank, so I'm in another mode

Moving way too fast, down this one way road

Let me catch my snap, before I roll another crap

And regret what I done, I been really shaft

Its a fact that my block, be hotter than the sun

You can sco' anything there, from drank to marijuana

And the corner, is for the stronger heart

Separate the men from the boys, and the weak from the smart

And apart, from all these hoe ass laws

Its a 24 no tolerance, for those that crawl

Through my block, you might get your busted

Dick in the dust, for fucking with us on my block


[Chorus]

Block bleeder, surviving in the game

I wanna live righteous, but I need to stack change

I know I'm going through it, but I gotta maintain

Block bleeder, surviving in the game

My block is on fire, and I'm addicted to the flame

Stain after stain, know what I'm talking mayn


[Z-Ro]

Judge me not, on what you see, nigga

Don't you realize, this life of mine is killing me

Straight from a Christian, to a heartless killa

Innocent child raised by the guerillas

Military minded, plus I'm starving for scrilla

Affiliated with killas, that shermed out and tooted

But we don't know no better, paper's got our mind polluted

I repent for my sins, cause I know my number's coming up

I'm paranoid my nigga, don't be running up

Whether friends or foe, I really don't know

That's why I'm warning you Ro, you need to just

Back up a ski taste, or I'll be tagging your toe

Since these punk ass individuals, drag my name through the mud

I ain't got nothing to say to niggas, unless they after the bud

Pumping pack after pack, barley missing a platinum plack

HPD be on a nigga with no slack, I want executive money

The CEA, Chief Executive Artist, instead of 36 ounces

Pistol grip and a cartridge, a block bleeder


[Chorus]


[Z-Ro]

The block is hot as a clinic, but its profession to me

And like Juve I'm posted up, so I can watch for the sweet

I've been less fortunate, and had to hustle all my life

Listening to people say, its gon be alright all my life

I even got a lady that's been faithful, all my life

She's still my gavel, cause I can't afford to call her my wife

I should be thankful that Dennison Dre, done gave me some help

But I'm depending on grown men, and I'm a grown man myself

Feeling lesser than nothing, and barely fucking with zones

Its like an obstacle course of dynamite, under every corner

I bob and weave through the hard time, my life is pain

From struggle where niggas fired, the reason that I record mine

Infrared, nigga you better protect your head

On my block when we kill eachother, no tears get shed

You take a front from a nigga, you better be quick to pay up

Bring his feddy back on time, or he'll be quick to spray ya

Twenty Fo' seven packing a Mac 11, on my turf

Running away from the police, chunking evidence like a Nurf

I'd rather sell my own records, Chief Executive Artist

Instead of 36 ounces pistol grip and a cartridge, a block bleeder


[Chorus]