Get on my field, get on my field,
get on my field, get on my field
in this dirty street shit
Thought I wouldn't make it,
Thought it would kill it,
Maybe I died, by running from the law
But in these few years, there's a lot I saw
come up strong by all means
Even killin' if they had to
You had to dope and they'll be glad to
Prop your ass for your goods
And jet the fuck up out your hood
Should I blast on this clown, nigga?
Should I blast on this clown?
Same county blues, same old cell,
same old bell, high as hell
There has to be, the pot of the butter
Had to talk to my pastor,
Like myself, he too was real
That's how I had it figured,
For a motherfuckin' hustle,
either you die, or get lost in the scuffle
Smoke NBC, didn't even sweat it
Stay strapped with a handgun
Fuck that shit, it ain't no justice
Lockin' us down, in a fuckin' counter
Look at the plan, the white man got
Lockin' us down, a hundred to a dome
What about the bitches, welfare reform?
they flexin' with they bands
Pullin' me over, and breakin' up my past
But I'd be damned if you gon'
Lock me up and want a post on my bill
Should've blasted of clowns