| Ay, yeah, yeah, yeah…
|
| My name is Weezy F Baby, hey
|
| Yeah, her name is Ms. Dynamite, yeah
|
| But you tell me…
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| You don’t have to cry
|
| You don’t have to cry no more
|
| As long as you keep holdin' on
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| You can damn sure take it
|
| We gon' make it, baby
|
| You don’t have to cry
|
| You don’t have to cry no more
|
| As long as you keep holdin' on
|
| You can damn sure take it
|
| We gon' make it, baby
|
| You don’t have to cry
|
| 'Cause the snitches running to the feds
|
| Hoes bouncing from bed to bed
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| No place for trust in your head
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| Can’t trust it…
|
| Where so many tears are shed
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| Keep friends? |
| He keep a 9 instead
|
| He know tonight he could be dead
|
| There’s no justice…
|
| So many troubled souls, so many broken homes
|
| So many kids out of control
|
| 'Cause they hopeless…
|
| Too many on parole, too many lies told
|
| Too many had their freedom stolen
|
| Tryin' to make it out the hood
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| Like, tryin' to make it out a manhole without a rope to pull
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| Hope the bullshit don’t take me out for good
|
| I know I gotta make the right example for my folk
|
| I don’t joke, though the smoke is hella hard to pull
|
| I just take it to the chest like a vet
|
| Gettin' still, what I feel on the inside is genocide
|
| Tryin' to live on the outside, but will I die
|
| But you tell me…
|
| My niggas posted on the block
|
| Like they soldiers in Iraq
|
| Every day them bodies drop
|
| Keep droppin'…
|
| Pain and violence round the clock
|
| Need help but we can’t trust the cops
|
| So how the fuck we make it stop?
|
| There’s no stoppin'…
|
| We tired of these bloody streets
|
| All they breed is tragedy
|
| This poverty so sad to see
|
| So sad…
|
| Long as them sirens ring
|
| I pray to see the day you smile
|
| Get up in my state, I’m tryin' to find fate
|
| Gotta get it for grind’s sake, I gotta find cake
|
| Ain’t no fire escape, I gotta climb gates
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| And knock down walls, and get up when I fall
|
| You see, given the time I’ll face, I can’t slow the pace
|
| Gotta move a little faster, ain’t nobody on my side
|
| I pray every night, feel like I ain’t prayin' to God
|
| Every time I tell Mom, she reply
|
| Ain’t a whole lot of love where we livin'
|
| The self-hate replace the optimism
|
| Ain’t a whole lot of chances we’re given
|
| It’s bullshit these streets is devil riddin'
|
| Every day you hear another mother scream
|
| Every night another victim, another murder scene
|
| Every second another nigga turn fiend
|
| But my ghetto children, hold on to your dreams
|
| Though it’s lookin' kinda rough, you gotta hold on
|
| Though it’s lookin' kinda rough, you gotta hold on
|
| I know it lookin' kinda rough, you gotta hold on
|
| Though it’s lookin' kinda rough, you gotta hold on
|
| Ay, ay, call me when it’s, and call me when it’s
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| Ay, ay, call me when it’s, and call me when it’s
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| Ay, ay, and call me when it’s, call me when it’s, call me when it’s
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| Ay, all my people call me when it’s gangsta
|
| My name is Weezy F Baby, hey
|
| Her name is Ms. Dynamite, hey, yo yo
|
| I know it’s lookin' kinda rough, you gotta hold on
|
| You don’t have to cry… |