Killah Priest - The Long Ride lyrics

rate me

(lockup) I really done it this time, I can't believe this

(Man up, stop talking)

I'm just a kid man, I broke my mom's heart

Starring out the prison bus windows

And mountains of snow only 17 with 40 to go

Thinking of all the pussy, weed and drinking he be missing

Damn why the judge wasn't leniant on my sentence?

Hit the prison system

Grew up a victim now he's faced with killers

Premonition you envision gotta make it nigga

Try lifting weights to get in shape

Spoons are scraped for wounds to make tatoos on face...

That afternoon he was raped

He decides that he couldn't take it

Make himself a cloth bracelet

Put it on his neck draw his breath

Last test may you rest in peace or in pieces

According to the laws of the street shit

Nine releases, pits walk off of leashes

Crime increases, Crip chalk line on his cement

Behind the precinc

A good friend you find you gotta keep it

Snakes will try to buy ya secrets, try to find ya weakness

For jealousy reasons I'm tired of telling these heathens

Overwhelmed by these demons

Secret meetings kinda swelling ya melon from what ya man is speaking

Open they closets see skeletons reaching

My rebellion strategic

Teach it grab the nine and squeeze it

See I live it and breathe it

Raised in poor schools where the principals are parapalegic

90 percent of the students a failure for reading

No elder achievement just welfare receiving

Who do you believe in? God or this Government?

The stars and they publicist

It's hard cover-age school yards pushing drugs on kids

Drug dealers lost they minds

Little kids shooting everywhere no aim cross that line

No morals we be judged for that

Slug or crack no-ones loyal just a shoulder shrug

Perhaps we went way past the borders we going to far

Save my babies from the street but mom I'm going to far

Back of a cops car I box with God

Wrestle with devils play chess with death seduced by my ghetto

Play dice with my life a flirter of murder

Tease the grave courted my sanity slept with my rage

If life's a bitch then deaths a bastard the presents the gift

I guess that what make me a rapper

My mind, my pen, my pad that's the ministry

The holy trinity, only serenity, divinity

My pen will squeeze footage in booklets of Brooklyn

For hoodlums I put lens on pens and push film for ends!