Young Boy

I'm a tell you what

I'm talking bout

When I was a young boy

My mama always told me don't take no shit

Motherfucker hit you then you better hit him back

So when I hit the nigga it go blame

And nigga outta line

Back when

I was 'bout big wheels and race tracks

Pop push the tornado and rode to eight tracks

Never stood a chance, exposed from way back

Lying to the baby, saying it's

AjaxI was about four, when

I walked passed that door

That should have been closed where

I first witnessed the raw

See in my household it was quite unique

Playing' hide and seek you might find a key

Car blames accidents so late branded my mental

Hal's my role model in that

Lincoln Continental

Bought all my friends icees, it was about six

And when he pull off

I was like "See told you we was rich"

How I turned out let it be no surprise

When they speak of cousin

Ricky it brings tears to their eyes, see

My family got a history of hustlers

Lil' brother, big brother, mother to grandmother, it's tradition

I'm a tell you what

I'm talking bout

When I was a young boy

My mama always told me don't take no shit

Motherfucker hit you then you better hit him back

So when I hit the nigga it go blame

And nigga outta line,

I said, "Motherfucker's outta line"

My momma didn't see it coming, my daddy was there

What's my excuse?

Cartoons were the root

Started with

Yosemite Sam

With the gun in palm of each hand

What couldn't

I demand see

Thirteen, studied the gansta's lean

Lil' grim no smile, lotta cash meanwhile

Daddy had the

Chrystler fifth avey

Hustlers on the block cars were aerodynamic

With ghetto paint jobs, mango

M 3'sOn seventeen inch

BB's, riding tough

The bike was huffy, attention was froze

And a twenty-five cent frozen cup laid my soul

The streets had made the mold

Since fourteen holding' push a

T was chosen

Rebel like

Che Gueverra,

RC Tyco verses

Carrera, pick

I'm a tell you what

I'm talking bout

When I was a young boy

My mama always told me don't take no shit

Mother fucker hit you then you better hit him back

So when I hit the nigga it go blame blame

And nigga outta line,

I said, "Motherfucker's outta line"

I think of grandma and the weight she would foot 'em

She kinda remind me of

Madame Queen in hoodlum

Spoiled the grandkids, each one she would treasure

Said she kept two guns and to do so was a pleasure

The cigarette dangled, forty-five degree angle

Still every bit a lady but you don't wanna tangle

Let that explain me and how

I got involved

Young N's hustlers in the creek, me,

Jon Jon and

JamalAge fifteen, walking through the hallway

Played the

New Jordan's, first one's on the scene

See I could afford them, living out a dream

Hustler on the rise, laces untied

Slid pass

Young N's, couldn't break my stride

Didn't know

I was knotted in street ties

Teachers asking how and why, bitches passing by

Oh my he so gangsta!

I'ma tell you what

I'm talking about

When I was a young boy

My mama always told me don't take no shit

Motherfucker hit you then you better hit him back

So when I hit the nigga it go blame

And nigga outta line,

I said, "Your nigga's outta line"

I'ma tell you what

I'm talking about

Outta line!