| Oh my, God, I can’t believe my eyes
|
| Wake up everybody you know
|
| Come on watch the garden grow
|
| I’ll see you when you get there
|
| Uh, alright, yeah, two fifteen, yo
|
| Downtown for the win, woah
|
| Sean C for the tempo, Portugal for the intro
|
| This is Arctical Don Disco from the one choir
|
| Calling shots like an umpire
|
| Where I live, yo, man, I done lost mad kinfolk
|
| Over gunfire through the window
|
| As a young squire who become Sire
|
| I had no way to tell what I was in for
|
| I was 5'9″ like Royce with the giant voice like Mik Winslow
|
| Never been quite lik them so I’m on my own time
|
| Mind darker than a coal mine
|
| Thoughts deeper than a gold mine
|
| So I’m out here slangin' on this blade
|
| Hopin' that I don’t get cut by these police
|
| Makin' raids on those of us who know what’s up
|
| My lil' homies, my lil' sons
|
| Got them keys and they got them drums
|
| Making superstitious runs on them insufficient funds
|
| No more rules in this here shit, toddlers packin' a revolver
|
| How the hell you robbers gonna rob the robber?
|
| See you with that heater, you sweeter than peach cobbler
|
| If it ain’t about that paper, then man that ain’t what Reek habla
|
| Man, you know what’s goin', they say, «Woke about that dope»
|
| Ask them fiends about them keys, 'bout that coke, 'bout that smoke
|
| Two fifteen my city, man, and we it from 'round here
|
| If it’s crazy where you at then, it ain’t no different 'round here
|
| Oh my, God, I can’t believe my eyes
|
| Wake up everybody you know (We all got away from you)
|
| Come on watch the garden grow (We all got away from you)
|
| I’ll see you when you get there
|
| Oh my, God, I can’t believe my eyes
|
| Wake up everybody you know (We all got away from you)
|
| Come on watch the garden grow (We all got away from you)
|
| I’ll see you when you get there
|
| Yo, reminiscin' over old times, sip a little bit of Oban
|
| When the wind blow like a land mine, balled up fist now
|
| Who the fuck’s this calling on the landline?
|
| Back back like a hair line, I don’t really want the air time
|
| I don’t wanna smile for the camera, damn, I just wanna see my fam rise
|
| I can feel when a man lies, tryin' to grow old and wise
|
| And I’m still fly like airlines, stay sharp like samurais
|
| Dip low like Cam’ron, Big Show when it’s slam time
|
| Word to my nigga Anton
|
| Bogarting through this door
|
| Hopin' that it don’t get shut
|
| By these police makin' raids on those of us who know what’s up
|
| My lil' uzi weighs a ton, man, I truly ain’t the one
|
| My lil' junior straight from juvie, make a movie gangster run
|
| Y’all confusin' this here shit with some television drama
|
| None of y’all lil' mamas touching Mr. Trotter
|
| Even with that heater, you sweeter than peach cobbler
|
| Real ones out here winnin', you swimmin' in deep agua
|
| Click, pow, I’m a rebel just for kicks now
|
| Been down with the get down
|
| You ain’t sayin' shit, sit down
|
| This loud, twenty one pound, my town
|
| Man, we it from 'round here
|
| If they 'bout it where you from, then it ain’t no different down here, listen
|
| Oh my, God, I can’t believe my eyes
|
| Wake up everybody you know (We all got away from you)
|
| Come on watch the garden grow (We all got away from you)
|
| I’ll see you when you get there
|
| Oh my, God, I can’t believe my eyes
|
| Wake up everybody you know (We all got away from you)
|
| Come on watch the garden grow (We all got away from you)
|
| I’ll see you when you get there
|
| Yeah? |
| Alright, I’ll come home
|
| At the end of the day, everybody got good and bad
|
| In every culture, in every race
|
| But you also gotta remember where your people at
|
| 'Cause you always should want to love your people unconditionally no matter
|
| what |