Jim Jones - Talking to the World lyrics

I grew up in the 'jects
Five inch what I press
Fry way to hold a tec
Live bait I'm so brazy man
In them pissy staircases, we just sittin here
Waitin with them crystal clear cases
Tryin to make a sale
When that wreck came around
I'm in the trench with my pound
I'm pitchin you cracks and the
Bench is my mound (what's good)
It ain't no freezin this game
I'm in the freezin the rain
Tryin to make G's off the 'caine so
I can freeze up a chain (Jacob)
Or put the Spre's on the thang (spinners)
So I can speed through the game (vroom)
That's why I think kinda different
And some think that I'm twisted
Cause I smoke too much
And I drink 'til I'm twisted (I'm on point)
I'm tryin to maintain to stay afloat
(that's right)
Cause that main game of shavin coke
Is goin down the tubes (that's a wrap)
That's why I'm downin booze
I stay surround by dudes
That chew down my food
Bon appetit - chow time

The purple, HAZE, keep scorchin and burnin
Nightmares at night I wake up in sweat
Tossin and turnin (I can't sleep)
I'm light on my sleep, I can't get a wink
I might miss somethin
I think if I blink I might miss somethin
(what happened what happened)
Constantly rollin up haze (uh huh)
As I stomp through this block
Man they throwin up treys (Eastside)
We from the streets, know the struggle
Know the hustle
Know the hook, know to cut it, know to double
(know that price)
Now if you don't change your mind
Change your grind
Don't get caught in the facade
Don't get caught up on a charge
(Don't be facin six) You know
That life goes by
Just as fast as them nights goes by
Hold fast, them blue and whites go by
(SQUALIE) we movin white, whole pies
Hope to God that the law
Or the vice don't ride (SQUALIE)
We been trapped in our own hustle
You see the government's the powder but
The crack is our own hustle
We smart ain't we?

Sheeit, the heat's in the kitchen
I speak to you listen the beef if it thicken
The heat'll stay clickin, believe that?
I'll be burnin water
While I turn the corners (uh huh)
I'll be more than gone as
RIP, man that's kind of redundant
Niggas, dyin off dumb shit
Bullets fly when the gun spit
Plus, man they ridin to dump clips (yes sir)
In hooped up whips
The place miss and I scoop up with
The eighth in 'em
They shoot up shit and straight get 'em
(boom)
They chew up shit like straight sick 'em
(sick 'em) over that turf or strip
Or that work the bricks
We'll squirt the shotty
And disperse your squad-dy (woo)
That's the code of my land
Over that blue and them grams
Niggas blowin your man (we gon' get 'em)
Get you all shot over hoes for a grand
Man, death is so cheap in
My hood - short paper