| You know I never was no choir boy |
| Ya folks got a gang of priors |
| Maybe that’s why the one time’s be triflin |
| Tryin to give a young nigga thirty five to life |
| When I ain’t even done nothin wrong off icer |
| I have no in fo to offer ya |
| He asked my name so I came off the brain |
| Told him «I'm John Doe and this is my hoe Jane» |
| He said «Smart mouth nigga don’t make me do ya» |
| Put my thumbprint in his high tech computer |
| My name came back with a warrant, felo-nies |
| Now they got me down-town, spread my anus |
| Buttock, I’m like, «What the FUCK is it now?» |
| He said, «You robbed a liquor store; we know where, when and how» |
| It’s foul, they got a nigga to’up from the, flo’up |
| My mom, in the courtroom lookin like she bout to throw up |
| It’s a strong armed robbery, strapped in the commision |
| at my pre-trial conference, D.A. had a proposition |
| He said if I lose at trial I’d get the? with the L on top |
| but take the deal he’d give me five with havin most of the charges |
| dropped |
| Hopped on the deal quicker than blast, and said |
| «I admit that, but two and a half ain’t bad I got getback» |
| They sentenced me to five, two I gotta bring |
| It’s only strike one swing, batta batta swing |
| Chorus: |
| It’s one-eight-seven on the D.A., cause they |
| ain’t tryin to give a young motherfucker no leeway |
| Yes yes… y’all |
| One-eight-seven on the whole courtroom, motherfuck em all |
| You better swing, batta batta swing |
| Cause once you get your third felony, your fifty years you gotta bring |
| It’s a deadly game of baseball |
| So when they try to pull you over |
| 1 — shoot em in the face y’all |
| 2 — shoot em in his face y’all |
| 3 — take em on a chase y’all |
| Fresh out the pen, unrehabili-tated |
| Doin hella good, and my P.O. hates it |
| Hates Dick, she’s a dyke lesbian bitch |
| Can’t wait to violate for me for some petty ass shit |
| I gotta get a job, so I’m fillin out applications |
| Fightin the temptation, to slang nightshift, uhh |
| Minimum wage don’t get it, five bucks a hour |
| don’t cut it, man I ain’t widdit |
| So fuck it, I went and struck it rich, on the dope sack |
| My homie gave me two, and told me to bring a fo’back |
| Now it’s time for me to start havin thangs |
| I flips me a Coupe and painted it candy-apple green |
| It gleams, clear coat sprayed on thickly |
| Fools out to get me cause my shit is lookin sticky |
| I’m at the club and I can feel them suckers scopin |
| I’m knowin they plottin on me, but I’m still hopin |
| that they won’t fry me, unless they wanna die |
| They will be, drippin more blood, than Mrs. Simpson was |
| Sho’nuff, ain’t no bluff, here them suckers come |
| Got me reachin up under the panel to handle the forty-four caliber |
| gun, uhh |
| Spun his ass around with one of the fat Magnum rounds |
| Got him on the ground makin funny sounds, ohh |
| I got a problem, witnesses ten |
| Positive identifa-cation |
| Chorus |
| On swoll in the pen, cellmates with X-Raided |
| Now I’m on parole, five years later |
| The Bo loc is ready to have me a ball |
| Fuck my P.O., I’m goin AWOL |
| And you all can suck this dick, I’m sick |
| and tired of goin through all this bitch-made shit |
| I got two strikes right now as we speak, and peep |
| I’m not bout to let you motherfuckers do, me |
| I’m petty with a prior, will buy your fate |
| With Wilson in the office, you gets no date |
| So I’m putting all my belongings on Greyhound bus #22 |
| Bound to another state, me and my crew |
| Unpacked my shit, stacked my grip |
| California and Pete Wilson can suck my dick! |
| And if you didn’t already know, that you couldn’t |
| trust his ass, just look how he did Polly Klass |
| Used her death, and her family’s name |
| so he can yank more votes, and political fame |
| It’s a shame, that I’m the one they say is a monster |
| Juvenile delinquent, steppin out of sync with |
| but FUCK THAT, I ain’t goin out, like a punk |
| That ain’t my style, rip him from his asscrack |
| to hit nutsacks now, they wanna kill a nigga |
| like me I blast one blast two that’s strike three |
| Chorus |