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Текст песни Hell Razah and 4th Disciple - Project Love

Hell Razah and 4th Disciple - Project Love слова песни

[Intro: Hell Razah]Pain, struggle, we gotta hold our head up, as a peopleYouknowhatimsayin, we on a prowlCan`t forget the struggle, son, we all go throughG.G.O.[Hell Razah]This for the baby mothers, broken heartedFive seeds in a one bedroom apartmentI feel the hunger of my brothers eatin` out the garbageAnd all my locked up and dead baby fathers, over lady heartachesWe play with automatics and revolversI know chain robbers could of been Vince CartersCan`t ignore it, cuz the pain botherDifferent book, but the same authorRecognize, we are the same fatherWe just try`nna feed our family tree, so our seeds be insanity freeInstead of locked up for scramblin` ki`sOG`s comin` home, he had it sownedBut the corner payphone, in `89, but he stuck in that zoneLittle Tasha, eight months, and got a baby by the neighborhood chumpWho`d rather smoke blunts, then bring home lunchYoung ones bustin` they guns with gemstars under they tonguesThey got the fathers locked away from the sons[Chorus: Hell Razah]Every time I count money and I think about my dead homies(It be that hood love, that keep me healthy)Every time I read a jail letter, thinkin` it`s gon` get better(It be that hood love, that keep me healthy)Every time I hear a seed dyin`, more mothers cryin`(It be that hood love, that keep me healthy)It`s nothin` like the hood...[Hell Razah]Drug shipments, welfare recipients worship ClintonMeanwhile, we got no food in the kitchenGrandmothers turned Christian, try to warn `em but he ain`t listenNow it`s phone calls from prison, daddy little girl is missingThirteen when she started kissing, she came in late pops was flippin`Momma`s boy, sold his cracks, to be employedNot noticin` we caught in the trap, to be destroyedLookin` out of cab window, same babies in the carriage, now sell indoCarry an info`, the sore losers can`t win, so they spread rumorsCorrupt cops, either lock or shoot usWe love the hood with a ghetto respect, Nat TurnerThe burner be the mind first amendment, say it, cuz I meantDon`t care about those who get offendedWe rock like Jimi Hendrix, me and my kindredStreet corner experts, in jeans and a sweatshirtTeam mates kick dirt, for CREAM and a networkYour back`ll get stabbed for that cash money bagYou ain`t a thug, with your chain, gun and doo-ragNew car, new lab, powerful weed from just two dragsYou coughin` on oregano, be careful who you follow broSomeone to push your Bentley, but they ain`t ready thoughSomeone to be an M.C., and on the radioSome sell yayo, it`s tricks in the ghettioChick where my cash go? You just like the last hoeBloomberg fucked up the crack flow, we let gats blowTwisted colors on our capsule, turn projects to castlesYou ever heard of the black Jews? You seen us on the five o`clock news[Chorus]

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