This is for the streets. Christ is for the streets too. Many are called but few are chosen. Are YOU chosen?
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This is what I live for. This is what I am dying for the love of. Yahweh.
Story behind the song
First jam I ever produced AND spit on in total production by MY hands and guided by the Holy Ghost. CHEEUH!
Lyrics
U Don’t No Me
Written, Produced & Engineered
by Mike Boston for Mic Boston Records
It ain’t too late.
Gotta speak the language of your audience.
If you in Greece you speak Greek.
If you in the streets you speak street.
Pathological haphazard blast sergeants,
Crash dummy, brass monkey,
Spanish Fly spillin’ draft dodgers
Gettin’ busy...
Little Ricky with a rash problem
Lingo tricky...
billet grillin’ way past August
Dass Boston, devil snatchin’
Watch where you stash the harvest.
Masked marauders gat balls in their back pocket.
Laugh often.
Dap you smoother than a frappe softened
J.P. Lickin’ in the back office Po present.
Two timin’ old friends like a old legend.
Hoe pregnant givin’ birth to animals with no tails
So frail...yet they cram to squeeze the cold steel.
Babysittin’ coke sales, bound to be a runner-up
It’s coming up.
Dude in cell seven’s runnin’ up.
Son of Man, Co D.
Heaven / Hell. What is UP?!
Man I can’t sugar coat it wit a what if what
Some things are better said, some things are better touched.
Don't I know your face from somewhere?
YOU DON’T KNOW ME.
We was in the Bay together right?
YOU DON’T KNOW ME.
You was in PC too?
NAH, YOU DON’T KNOW ME.
You got a brother named Vendetta?
YOU DON’T KNOW ME.
Oh...you from Upham’s Corner?
YOU DON’T KNOW ME.
Chu from Dudley?
MAAAN, YOU DON’T KNOW ME.
Chums grungy,
& get slimy when the funds funny.
Grimey when it comes to money.
Pressin’ for a war report, Corey snorts...
And gets HEATED with my boring thoughts
Of where he thinks he’ll be if he meets Jesus in the mornin’ court.
He be vexed like, leemee lone & he hauls his ‘Port
And blows out the smoke like a heimie with a common cough
S’not enough.
In they eyes I see a lot of tough
Scared ‘cuz they see what time it is and I done called they bluff.
You ain’t that far gone.
You smoke pot enough & shot a lot of pardeners
Heart sorta hardened up.
S’now or never...
Why you think the martyrs come & go with the rising sun dun
I done shot ‘em up too...
‘Memba ‘fore my daughters came
I’d aim for the neck & da bottom like like, “BOTTOMS UP!”
Turn around 180 like, “PLEASE JESUS! don’t let ‘em die
Just let ‘em bleed JESUS!...
Look in my face.
It’s me Mike B., Caesar, same jump-off cat
Redeemed for a lot of stuff.s
You a Jehovah witness?
YOU DON’T KNOW ME.
Could’ve swore you was from the park.
YOU DON’T KNOW ME.
Got that fire?
NAH. YOU DON’T KNOW ME.
Got a sister named JBEAN?
YOU DON’T KNOW ME.
Sup wit ya moms?
YOU DON’T KNOW ME.
you ain’t changed at all kid.
MAAAN, YOU DON’T KNOW ME.
You that dude from that video, huh?
YOU - DON’T - KNOW ME.
Wanna throw down on some treez?
YOU DON’T KNOW ME.
Sup wit Scoe & them man.
YOU DON’T KNOW ME.
Still crazy...
WRONG DUDE, YOU DO NOT KNOW ME.
Big shout out to all the panhandlers & homeless folks that witness this stuff every day...yeah.
© 2006 Mic Boston Records. All rights reserved.
