Classified, Ghetto Child, Martin Finch - CYOA 4 lyrics

(Choose your own adventureeeeeee)

Martin Finch
(What's up man? What are you doin here?)
What are YOU doin here?
I thought you were at boot
Camp the last two months?

Hey Class, I'm back, I'm back in the 'fax
I'm back with a bad back
I was trapped in Shilo, Manitoba
Where everything is flat
I can't even find it on a map
I was surrounded by MC's but
None of them rapped
Everyday I was doin laps around the track
Every drill I was catchin
Flack for bein slack
I tried so hard that I had an asthma attack
And cracked my back, left it blue and black
(Man don't give me that, just
Keep it real, come on, it's Class)
No man, this massive motherfucker woke me up
To do sit ups and push ups, 'til I threw up
Imagine bein depressed as fuck
Pressed for luck
Like nothing's enough, life is tough
When these ranks are rippin your stuff
Boot camp sucks
Plus you got to dig a trench in the muck
Basic is two months of bein
Stuck and brain fucked
Shucks, it's worth the bucks but when
You're goin through it it fuckin sucks

Man, that's tough luck
You sound like you could use
A drink, come on, let's go get fucked up!
(yeah) so back into the club we
Went and got some liquor
We downed a pitcher
Then I made my way towards the pisser
The mood is right, the music's tight
The atmosphere better
The crowd's buildin and they feelin
Each and every record
Then I see Ghetto Child chillin
In the back but lookin kind of tense
A little stressed out in fact

What up Class? (Ghetto Child man
What's happenin? What's goin on?)
Man you should leave
Trust me it's about to get ugly

Alright, it's a motherfuckin stick up!
(Gun-gun-gun-gun's still loaded)
I'm ready to empty the semi on any who envy
Got plenty of deadly ammo for
Anyone tried to tempt me
The cannibalistic animal in me
Is the reason there's no manager with me
Cause (the gun's still loaded)
Pour me a draft
Empty the till and give me the cash
Cause it's a stick up!
From pennies to bills
The bartender's tip cup
The ice in his grill got
Knocked out and picked up
(The gun's still loaded)
Still waitin to bust it
They prayin I tuck it
But that shit don't relate to my subject
Disturbin the peace invadin the
Club with a ratchet
Attackin any rapper that think he
Sayin somethin but sayin nothin!
(Bo!, bo, the gun's still loaded)
Shots rang out, rang out, bang out, bang out
Got the club runnin like a track meet
You trip
You trampled like jockies in a stampede
Exit's in every direction, everyone except me
Is leapin and creepin, duckin and
Dodgin, runnin and gunnin, runnin for
Safety "Run for your life! He's gone crazy!"
That's why that lady screamed, that's
Her in the club, right outside
Them all shots fly but
(the gun's still loaded, blow our your brain)

If the bullet hit you, turn off the CD
You're dead!
If the bullet missed you, please
Proceed to Track 22