| Don’t you remember you told me you loved me baby?
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| You said you’d be coming back this way again
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| Baby baby baby baby ohhh baby
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| I love you, yeah, I really do
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| Uhh, it’s real
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| Dear Lord, yeah
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| This letter is from Saigon, the Yardfather
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| We fucked up Lord
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| Will, talk, to 'em
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| I tell 'em
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| It’s alright, it’s alright
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| I know my rent is overdue, they 'bout to shut off my light
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| And even if I get a job, too late, you’re too right
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| Gotta do what I gotta do to get this loot up tonight
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| It’s alright, I write a letter dedicated to God
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| First I’ll thank him, without him I’da never made it this far
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| But it’s hard tryin to think of why he not gettin involved
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| It’s a lady with a newborn baby livin in the car
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| The police is beatin us up, the hurricane is eatin us up
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| Katrina flood water was deep as a fuck
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| Dear Lord, are we ever gon' receive a reward
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| For all the sufferin and pain and misery we endure?
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| Just like Trans-Atlantic slave trade, the AIDS, the crack
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| When are we ever gon' get paid back?
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| PS: write your boy S to the A back
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| And tell Luther we got a joint we gave that stays on playback
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| When you told me you loved me (that's what you told me, ain’t it?)
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| (You said you, you, you said you, you said that you was comin back) I’m back
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| You told me you was comin back, that I would see you but you never told me when
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| I want you here to guide me by my side so it doesn’t have to be in vain
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| So never leavin you again
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| It’s alright, it’s alright
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| They narcotized our neighborhood flood the ghetto with white
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| My nigga only 21, he too young for two strikes
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| But if he catch another felony he gonna do life, that ain’t right
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| I write a letter dedicated to our
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| Father who art in Heaven, Muslim brothers call him Allah
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| And they all tryin to think of why he not gettin involved
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| America is bombin them for no reason at all
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| Gas prices eatin us up, parole officers cheatin us yup
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| They lock us in for dirty pee in a cup
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| Ayo I know you love us Lord, but please show black people a sign
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| To us, society’s a lethal design
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| Them A-T-Liens adapt to the track
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| Up top, we call it the block, when not most of the crackers live that
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| C’mon Lord, you don’t see nothin the matter with that?
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| Hit me back, I think me and you need to chat
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| To all the ladies havin babies on they own
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| These niggas ain’t shit ma, for real yo? |
| You better off alone
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| If he ain’t smart enough to know why he should stay
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| Then what could he possibly teach his seed anyway?
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| You gotta grind like you never grind
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| Even if it mean you gotta shake your never mind, I know I read your mind
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| You gotta do what you gotta, get it together ma
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| A baby ain’t temporary, that shit’s forever ma
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| A mother’s love is the freshest kind
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| That’ll get y’all through the hard times, the pain and the stress combined
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| Raise your seed, you don’t need no man
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| Especially one that need to be de-programmed
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| Type brother think he righteous cause he don’t eat no ham
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| But he keep plans of fuckin with some kilograms
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| Girlfriend, you know what you do when the time is right
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| You tell your lil' one that it’s alright
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| For real, keep your head up
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| I dedicate this song, to the whole Abandoned Nation
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| If you’ve been abandoned in any sense of the word
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| Then you part of this Abandoned Nation
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| Gotta take it for what it’s worth, right
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| God love us young brothers, that’s right
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| To all my brothers on lockdown, the whole Abandoned Nation
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| Let’s go |