shit about us, but that shit is foul When I'm tryin' to feed my son and drop multi-platinum albums Make my mother proud that her son made it out But
heat in harlem the heat in harlem A b And the heat of the soul Ring that number hear that timbre Watch my senses go right out the door Born on the pavement
and the sound The pen and paper plays my savior while I'm getting down Pray for my nieghbors as a favor for holding me down Slave for my papers as I savor
jaw drop to the pavement Why y'all testin' my gangsta? These bitches testin' my gangsta Why y'all testin' my gangsta? These bitches testin' my gangsta Why y'all testin' my
one step ahead But the jiggy was always there Upon the project pavement There was death, enslavement of the mind Single mothers are filled with stress As I lay there with my
, got mouths to feed and we ain't gettin' no younger No doubt, mix the Guinstout, with the Colt 40 Toastin' the majority, stay bent With tobacco spilt on the pavement Feelin' my
The world is blocked out in the bedroom Every note is a reminder The radio won't let her down Another failure is born Thirty miles outside Chicago Still
They talk shit about us but that shit is foul when I'm tryna feed my son and drop multi-platinum albums Make my mother proud that her son made it out
I won't ever let go In Oklahoma, The raindrops hit the pavement, Well, then it hits me The sun has slipped away, Not to worry, Our song comes on the radio
tryin' to see her I've been stripping the days Off the sidewalks and pavement The walls are all white And we're painting them whiter For the zig zag mainline, my radio
's not true The nice Christian lady told you so She was handing out pamphlets by the clinic door Saying, "Jesus knows what you've been through Take the savior into your heart, my
pavement, I'm telling you what for You're no more than a thought No more than a thought Oh you're getting smaller in my rear view mirror And you're getting smaller in my
and my pavement It seemed to get a hundred yards long I still feel the wind on my elbow But I'm driving by the seat of my pants I keep on tryin' to tune
distance between me and my pavement Seemed to get a hundred yards long I still feel the wind on my elbow But I'm driving by the seat of my pant I keep
are banging all around Momma's in the kitchen, she got the radio on all the time My little sister's screaming and stamping on the ground And the radio
what's mine, '99 is my time to shine, that's that Take it easy, fuck that, I'm ready yo I refuse to dilute jewels For you fools on this radio, fizzy
I smell the pavement At the end there's a light And so pretty women Though I couldn't see I'm not blind and inside my mind Fright night on the radio
a slave to the rhythm, victims I'm like alien About to put that shit up in 'em I can't live without my radio A 100 miles and runnin' T2 Judgment comin