[...I think underground is

whatever, your mood or your feelings might be at the time

So long as it's the truth... truth... truth...]



Verse One:



I could tell the pimped-est story

About street homicide, and make it sound gory

Cause you know, shit be happenin everyday

And then on the weekends twice as much shit comes into play

So I better watch my back or

I might get caught up, in a fuckin crack war

So I use the back door, cause the front ain't safe

Seven different brothers got stuck and I don't wanna be the eighth

Don't make no sense

Walkin through my own neighborhood I feel tense

Don't wanna carry no gun

Cause the cops be stoppin us, and pattin us down just for fun

So, the only protection I got

Is my smitties, but how many kids get shot

Fuckin that throw up your hands shit

And fight like a man but he don't get to land shit

Not one punch, the only hit

Was when his head hit the concrete, got knocked clean off his feet

Got a lot of blood on they shoes

But they got that Rolex, and jumped in the cruise

Late model Sedan, either blue or black

Was the only description, no plates in the back

I know one thing, they ain't from around here

But what block would dare to come down here

Stickin up shit, must be new jacks

Trying to get a rep, they better watch they backs *echoes*



[...they better watch they backs *gets steadily louder*]

[Guess what happened to me when I was wa-walk-wah-walkin down the street]

They better watch they backs!



Verse Two:



Cause my man Shiloh, is out on the prowl

With some East Medina, brothers that's foul

Lookin to protect, the streets that our mothers

Have to walk on, from black young brothers

It's bad e