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Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #3,609
Peak in subgenre #2,046
Author
Curt
Rights
fuck off...
Uploaded
July 19, 2004
Track Files
MP3
MP3 4.8 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Lyrics
:hook:
welcome to the jungle mufukka...
to the gutta mufukka...
where a nigga str8 gut a mufukka...
this is where gorrillas sleep...
and the killers eat...
where living always tastes a little bitter sweet...
(swinging on trees from these Brick City streets)
...From the slums...that nigga young...Curtisey is born...
spit a hit...flip a brick...push a whip...burgundy of course...
thru the blue tint...crusing on the block...
I see niggas kids kids...shootin with the cops...
gotta...skate...thru the ruthlesness...parovin thru the block...
O.G.'s...used me for the rock...
sittin on the porch...with a torch...toolie in the sock...
at 13...the shit recycles...like your worst dreams...
I was my worst fiend...life was a car with no breaks...
to the fam...all the dough made...
noone to influence me to stop...cause I was the silent type...
releasing thoughts behind the mic...
shit,even...helped my uncle get behind the pipe...but I was not as nice...
funny...when niggas know you holding...they're not inclined to fight...
:sidenote:...fuck whoeva said that china white...
the shit is darker than the heart it takes to sell it to a kid...
52 weeks...6 days...loosin sleep...
fighting thru the heat...blazed trees...the only food to eat...
feeling like your head is finna split...
workin hard for the feddi or them chips...
I don't flip birds...I just feedem breading on the strip...
and fall back when the animals approach...
if blue lights flash...I swallow the shit whole...
-like Tyrannus with a goat...
Sup thuggery...its ya dun Curtisey...
pull up in a LT...the color of plums...rum burgundy...
birthed from the slums...comes to work with a gun...and goes to work with a gun...
spilled blood...certainly...
my outlook on life...hazed out...ain't even the purple b...
I'm tryin to change...but can't break the habit of dollars...
my only solice is words...and I'm tryin not to merch a beat...
niggas think its easy for a nigga with brains to smurf the streets...
its rabid and collared...only math that matters...is fractions of product...
I'd never blurt my steez...Like Cam said...these visions are gutta
theres killers among us...that can't see passed the metal...
nickel plates...1 inch slabs...and wrists swimming in hancuffs...
this shit'll have a nigga...unable to take a piss when they stand up...
crack baby's call it home...
what you know about lullabys of gunshots...police lights and sirens...
outside of churches...drug deals...ya see shots firing...
wake up to the sweet smell of pissy hallways...mother in the kitchen all day...
but she ain't cookin or baking...she cooking and baking...
children on the corner lookin fa bacon...
where teachers turn to hookin to pay rent...
where you get a life size portrait...chalked sillouette written in pavement...
that yellow tape shit...
doggy its ugly...but aint shit to brag about...
I put in work to be where I'm at...a mufukkah glad he out...
and naw I ain't glorifying the streets...
the shits worse than you could ever record on a beat...
they say it ain't where you from...its what ya current status is...
well its hard to choose between the institution and the casket kid...
especially when u got nothin 2 lose...and everything to fuck up...
I got hope for myself...ain't tryna be 30 and still on the buckle...like holes of a belt...
but untill then...where I'm from is who I am...
str8 braisen and igged...
just know ya health...runs with ya wealth...
short ends...mean short lived are the days of your kids...
so love them to death...
or the sons I birth that cum from the clip...
will stop the pain and putem to rest...
:hook:
welcome to the jungle mufukka...
to the gutta mufukka...
where a nigga str8 gut a mufukka...
this is where gorrillas sleep...
and the killers eat...
where living always tastes a little bitter sweet...
(swinging on trees from these Brick City streets...)
