MAC MALL - Ghetto Stardom lyrics

rate me

Now when I just made 12 years old

My mama told me:'Baby boy, you know you gotta be strong

And even though they lead you wrong, stay on the right track

Cause it ain't no get right without some get back.'

Yeah, I heard that, but back then I didn't feel it

Cause I was rollin' do or die, tryna see me a ticket, just kickin'

G-block, I said I'll never leave

Even when the rollers chase me down til I can't breathe

Nigga freeze, who me? Oh, never that!

I'm hittin' fence after fence until I'm chillin' at my doormat

Like a mack I had to get away

Cause I'm a smooth operator, ask Shanda

But the rollers in the V is so shady

If they could, they would plan something on me

But really, them ain't the fools I gotta worry 'bout

Cause white folks goin' loced in the white house

And I doubt a republican or democrate

Gives a fuck about us young inner city blacks

It's a trap, Uncle Sam keeps cursing me

Rather have me in the pen than the university

Yeah, it's a shame but mane, that's how it is

So ya better peep game and try to lace ya kids

Cause it ain't no tellin' what's soon to come

When the punk president might drop the bomb

Got me all stressed out with my brain on numb

My little cousin asking me where dope come from

[Chorus:]

They try to tell us in the verses and the scriptures

But I guess the real message must have missed us

In '96 all my brothers and my sisters

Is on a mission, we're trippin' livin' senseless

Tell me, will I see the sun in days to come

Will blacks be the victors instead of victims

Or will my people keep killing over fuckin' crumbs

Pushin' dope just to reach ghetto stardom

If you ask Mac Mall who I'm voting for

I say:'Farrakhan' as I'm hittin' the bomb

I .. to the swisher or the dohja spliff

Get elevated to another as I reminisce

About fresh candy paint and peanut butter tops

Young hustlers havin' paper, livin' top notch

And then the D-game straight decline

And all you Sawyer turf niggas makin' headlines

10 o'clock news or America's most

Unsolved mysteries, you better soak some dope

Then the judge starts droppin' the injuries

On all the gangstas, playahs, macks and G's

And you know you wont see 'em til about 2 thou'

Cause ya boy got washed with a faulty assed trial

But at least one day he gone be free

Some soldiers ain't never gonna see the streets

That's why I keep servin' game over my beats

So all my people, in and out, can straight feel me

[Chorus]

There is nowhere for me to run

Nowhere for me to hide from reality

But I don't wanna be a casualty

Of another tryna smother a brother just cause my salary

And dog, I tell ya that these times' so sick

That my sister's smoking dohja, 8 months pregnant

My brother bubble on the grind and he's way legit

Working on his third strike and he still won't quit

But I can't tell him nuttin' bout a salary job

So in order to get tha paper the boy gotta mob or sob

All will fall to the waistside

While the rollers overlook they wanna take lifes

Youngstas they gettin' raised off the T.V.

Got white kids around the country wanna be me

And the way they point the finger ain't even shob

Television replace religion, now the gangsta's god

And old folks wonder why we so crazy

90 knuckleheads and 70 high babies

And can't nobody tell me that I'm wrong

Uncle Sam finding ways to fit computer chips in my dome

So I should ask before you slip

See it's higher than the ultimate trip

[Chorus]

You know, dedicated to DJ Cee, S-Double the Mac

Reach Ghetto Stardom