[Produced By Drugs The Model Citizen]
[Intro: Sample]
Bishop & Q from the movie Juice
(Verse 1)
Sweet Holy Jesus, my filthy hands need holy water
These thesis i’m preaching, street sweepers
Leave your teeth in the streets them tires screeching
Smoke screening, barbecue beefing, body bags heaping
You wouldn’t last a weekend outdoors policemen ain’t reaping
What they sow, sew my block with E and weed
And greeds the seed, when greens the root of all evil
I bleed the beats, burn up these roots of diesel
I’m just tryna eat, scrape the plate, view the people
Blind in trying to cure the lethal, piss on cathedrals
Piss poor sequels, we pissed off it’s never peaceful
They got these streets tatted on they face
Ports by the seas keep a eye out for Jakes
Travis Bickle from the PJ’s with nickel plated thirty eights
Thirty eight goons wet up yo block like a typhoon
The pack’s back to howl at the moon, from sand dunes
Biting on your back, for a plate of food, toe tagging
They start ranting we start dancing with AK’s
Hundred drums clapping like street parades
Satan serenades, next to angel dust in J’s, throwing fades
Get cut for your J’s, if you ball and shine with chains
Wonder fore the sun come up, will I live to see twenty one?
Twenty one gun salute, for my day one troops
Thousand truths I prefer my words with platinum teeth
Keep a heart on my sleeve they see it gives em the blues
Hip-Hop’s been my blues, like i’m so ahead of my time
Look inside of my eyes, and explore the horrors in my mind
(Hook)
I got the juice, I got the juice, I got the juice now
I juke with nouns and verbs next to shootouts on curbs
Smoke a pound of purp, and write my wrongs
I got the juice, I got the juice, I got the juice now
I juke with nouns and verbs next to shootouts on curbs
Smoke a pound of purp, and write my wrongs
I got the juice, I got the juice, I got the juice now
I juke with nouns and verbs next to shootouts on curbs
Smoke a pound of purp, and write my wrongs
(Verse 2)
I’m inclined to blow any time so your likely to find a mine
Find chalk lines, either you on deck or mimic mimes
Traumatized state of mind, my alumni’s adapt to crime
Backpack raps full of rhymes like tec-9’s
And i’ma set it off till sun/son gone shine
Stain the A&R and tell em give me dimes
Give me whips, give me deals everything they conceal
Have em strip, or they skull getting peeled
Skill still appeal, the monetarys glued to my brain and
Every verse is like the monster Ronald Reagan created
My CD would’ve been sold in the crack epidemic
Tell Momma to bury me with a three fifty seven
In case God guards the gate and I don’t get into heaven
Get a reverend half stepping on Caine, i’m out for presidents
To represent me, this master kush up in my brain
That presidential that I really need, trying to see another day
I pray i’m forgiven for the dirt that I did and didn’t do
Cynical and spiritual in a place thats so critical, touch souls of criminals
And straight A individuals, I parlay with the visuals
Fuck the revenue, I pledge the intellectual, not the lyrical
Put gats to politicians temples, pyrex with coke residue
Swimming pools full of sharks, you a floating carcass
Color conscious on streets, thats true colors no conscience
We pompous out here trying to break your compass
(Hook)
I got the juice, I got the juice, I got the juice now
I juke with nouns and verbs next to shootouts on curbs
Smoke a pound of purp, and write my wrongs
I got the juice, I got the juice, I got the juice now
I juke with nouns and verbs next to shootouts on curbs
Smoke a pound of purp, and write my wrongs
I got the juice, I got the juice, I got the juice now
I juke with nouns and verbs next to shootouts on curbs
Smoke a pound of purp, and write my wrongs
