Dead Homies

作词 : Barnett, Gipp, Knighton, Lyon ...

Ha ha Yeah

What's happening world

This is for all my homeboys who didn't get to see a new year yeah, yo

This for my homeboys dead and gone

Off in the bushes, we pour out liquor, and roll up swisher smoke

The hood has changed since you left, man

I see your mom and dad got a new jag

Little Jason work at

Papa John's, saw your other brother

Kelly In the ba*******t at

Killer Bee's house

Tuesday night fights,

ESPN, Sportcenter, big screen

You know how these

Eastpoint vets do

Can you recall riding bicycles in the trails behind

Krissy Collins dropping

Huffys like

BMX's Your first car was a

Honda, my first car was a rabbit

Cut parties with a tall can or something

Off in the 800

Ol' E, man, that old girl

She always fell, drunk off the pink champell

Yeah, reminiscing going through adolescence with you

Hoping that these words get to you in good spirit

Your partna

Gipp won't forget you, my little brother

Went to prison last week, since he been in we barely speak

Rest in peace, to all the brothers

And sisters who didn't make it to see, a struggle

In the flesh, my folk thought

I'm in the carcus

I don't wor*******p the sun no more,

I follow David

Carresh So

I'm living right, the tears of many with a

Sheet pulled over my ******* head,

I'm hanging in there

Like a wasp nest, meanwhile *******z is quiting on me

Falling victum to stress

I'm filling it with your diction homie,but that don't

Take away from my spirit and my mind, one time

For my homie

Barat, and my homie

Quentin And my shawty

Felicia, and my partna

Floppy I'm still living for you,

I'm still swinging on a *******

Still pulling on a flicker flicker, as

I inhale the smoke

With my kinfolk,

G-double O-

D-I-E M-O-

B for L-I-

F-E

You want this gold clean and *******ning

Don't need to remind me about the divine, he polishes

And demolish his competitors, who was the editor

To bad mouth these boys that bred in the

South Where chicken's fried on the daily, and rebel flags fly

I have no love for confederate sons but guns

And no hogs' good for me, people like my type

To spark the spiritual fight with the devil off tonight

When he's white, at anytime, and any rhyme

With substance is looked at as racist

When good ol' boys is still doing hangings

And Mississippi having no pity on my color skin

Not having a choice from the begin, little brothers

Like me to pose a physical threat, but check

Let me grab a hold of my black steel

And I'll show all y'all who's real c'mon