IMF Blue Steele, Shyheim - Good Lord lyrics

Boy, we've got to face it
Let's talk it out today
We've got to get that feeling back
Lift all these sins away

The fuck out here, I praise my own to God
He gon' let me eat

Through my, days and nights, I pray and write
For that
One of those prayers might save my life
Or, change my life, I came to write
I could see my name in lights
Big chains with ice
I'm thinking futuristic for when I come out
Don't blink cuz you might miss it, son
When I come out cuz I'ma fuck shit up so
Drastic that the public masses
Gon' be like (What the fuck was that shit?)
And this nigga crazy with it
Cuz he done babysitted
A pen and paper, that'd give him the vapors
Matter of fact, son
That'd give him them papers
Contract signatures, Cognac, sip it up
Negociating in a all black tinted truck
Yeah, I slow grind it, but son I picked it up
And they made mine, no more WIC for us
Look what the most high God done did for us
Front lawn, back yard, a crib for us
A nice big garage and a
Car that's just for us
So I gotta thank my God for this, cuz uh
I could be locked down behind
Bars or stiff as fuck
And you know I keep my hammer on my waist
Slugs fly around a nigga
I need a camera in my face
Unit's being sold, beautiful as gold
And try to a get a plaque quick
A liar for this rap shit

Thanks to to the good Lord
I made it through the hood wars
Now I'm trying to book tours, nigga
(cuz I seen did it all) after this rap shit
I'm not going back with this
Sleeping on a pissy-ass mattress
(cuz I done did it all)
Thanks to this mic check
A nigga get the right cheques
No longer gotta worry what the price is
(cuz I'ma get it all)
Now, I shall slide through life
And paint pictures for ya eye through mics
(and y'all I could hear it all)

I survived lots of fights on lots of nights
Now my wrist all chipped with rocks, aight?
Ya like? And this is just a pit'stop
Y'all trying to get props, not
Me, I'ma get rich, watch
Spend another hundred thou' on a wrist watch
Niggas like
"Son is running wild in that 6 drop"
Yeah, but I'm still awesome with the tongue
Keep the larcen on me, son
With that grip shirt
I'm looking like a Martian with a gun
Parking in the slums, hopping
Out, niggas blunts roll, offer Remy some
Son, will ya get that? Matter of fact
What is that? That nigga said
"A little blueberry mixed with Kit Kat"
Y'all niggas just rap
I'm trying to Sinatra on them songs
Y'all niggas rocking on them wrong
Matter of fact, I'm Sammy Davis on the beats
So all that gat rap ya talk
Make her save it for the streets cuz


When I mic check, I make niggas write cheques
I'm trying to live life, yes
Bitch with nice breasts
Little nice sectionary project groupies
Give me a budget to direct movies
Just a can't lose these, tie up to the street
If I die, I'ma still be alive on these beats
God forbid, so I jar with the niz
These niggas is gon' not take
This father from his kids
It's hard when you live in
The slums with ya babies
That's why y'all niggas be trying
To run from ya babies
I ain't going nowhere, I'ma show my seeds
How you could go from nothing to 4 to 5 E's
I'm looking for 6 daughters and 4 David's
Business lawyers on my caller ID's
Coffee in the morning, sugar in the bowl
I'm flossy when I'm yawning
There's bullets in my boats

Shit, nigga, shit, nigga, shit nigga, come on