His tortured soul yearned for guns but it was just faltered hope
And when she not, have her feeling like she on a boat
In your gold pot addin' extra sauce because
I started praying for the hope and the change of love
Holla at ya boy young roy’s in the kill shit
Dangerous streets, we need the guns unloaded,
When your religion has made decisions to spill the blood of brothers,
And ain't it shameful, how niggas blame hoes for givin' birth
Played our beats on the streets
Little more weed, first class seats
My and my 10 brothers dont have money for tha bail. it's hell,
I guess i met you for a reason only time could tell, but well
We brothers forever, to the end and counting
Fuck the fat lady, it's over when all the kids sing
Streets became home to me/ like a mother to be/ the streets
Indeed, the flow raw just the same as my levi jeans
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