Lyrics
I ain't from the hood, G, but i was born in the streets
I mean, I dove underneath a ford jeep before it tore between
my mothers feet, heard the horn beep and a door creak
it was couple bored teens smoking orange weed
they ask me to join em, I said pass me a joint and
I sat back in my seat after snatching a 40
do you now see how long I've been doing this, lil' suckers?
and I'm still with the same crew that killed my mother
yo, I stick with a clique so rich, when we pay
for sh** - it's BIG - we bought a Russian Mig on E-Bay
but we can't fly it, "This is Captain Jackson, your pilot...
we just hot-boxed the cock-pit, is anybody high yet?"
I'm violent and gifted with the ability to trick minors,
I'm kinda like a time-bomb, fixed with a million timers
I like to incite fights until you literally riot
which is why I been fired as a little league umpire
see, wild doesn't describe what I am
if I'm silent it's cuz I'm trying to decide which nine
to fire, of mine, at liars who try and defile the empire
I designed with a pencil, confined to a mental asylum
and for the record, I support every Terrorist Rebel's efforts
ever, to get-rid-of American Devils in political sectors
whether it's... subliminal messages, or crashing some jets in
to sh** , Whatever! - you'll probably see me rocking a sweat-shirt
with Osama bin Laden, sprawled across it
singing praise to Allah, while the bombs are dropping
chillin with six Hizballah in my moms apartment
marijuana smoke got us all talking awkward,
see.... this pack of tobacco, this ain't a bad habit
and you'd know that if you had to live with a crack addict
or a dad, who was f*** in attached, to Sam Adams draft
as if it was a super-conductive magnet attracting him
no wonder my angry ass was playing in traffic
often with bad-kids, tossin gravel off over-passes
watching it smash wind-shield glass of hatchback's passin
as the black wheel's dragged and squeeled, crashin
see, I'm dude who'd rather smack you than rap to you,
attacking two rappers who lack the fuel to blast, when you
know I'm packed like NASA did the math on how much fuel
it would actually take for me to get to the moon and back
I was framed by the CIA, when I discovered
data on my state governments, latest exchanges
with space- alien races, and ever since that day
its like, I've just had to stay in a safe haven
chased by every important major organization to chase men
from forest rangers, to Transformers, to Power Rangers,
to an assortment of horsemen, with swords and maces
trying to force their way in and take it
shake agents like the Matrix, I'm faced with a debate
on whether to re-shape or re-create my face again
with plastic surgery, nervously awaiting
the day I have to blow the place up so I work a nursery purposely
you're sure to see me, with a chest full of C4
on T.V, ready sink California to the sea floor
I need more explosives, I'm attrocious
telling the reporters to interview me, while I choke them
