Whispers

It weren't the task f.o.r.c.e
On Thursday, I'm writing rhymes
Blood for blood without remorse
It's white collar crimes
Uh,it's hard catchin' these old rhymes
See where I park, valet costs a note
Baby please read the letter I wrote
Check my credit cards, bout X amount
Fuck that... guns pat, Maccabeez muthafucka, one more time
1-2-3 down for the count
I did that time...I flipped that dime...
Watch people in the street, from the bottom climb
And indeed I see the need for the bleedin' at Calvary
In the club, givin' them girls all they salary
Ju hold my gun and the clip
You pausе, I fast-forward my life
Livin freshy '97, it's time to flip
I'm tirеd, I'm tired of living li-ife
Claim to be my Earth but you too trife
Know you got it going on Obie
That's why a bitch be...
It weren't the task f.o.r.c.e
But socially, they never know what's up
Laying in tomato sauce
Pop - pop my trunk, and yup, yup, yup
If you bout handling bidness, put your hands up
She laid out, make her suck this dick
Pop my wheel break bread with my click
But my worlds too subliminal around me
Often it's the audience that clutched the reward
Just called to say that it's good to be
So many people think this music biz isn't hard
Straight gangster fool, big fool up in the yard
Dope House Records at the end of my necklace
In accordance, with all the laws from the cordless
Cause the game is shady, and the streets are watching
Cuz I'll stab ya whole flock with one knife
All my independent bouncers, that ain't thinking bout stopping
I'm tired, I'm tired of living li-ife
Cause nobody cares in the end and that's life
After us they broke the mold fast
Across that damned West Coast