by Tumelo master
Brought to you bu m.o.p records
i lost a soul to the underground,still tryna stay alive;
to rappers who diss me,know your life is on the line;
a soul to the underground,still tryna stay alive sh*,damn the rap game is now a play ground.
yall niggers keep talking;
like you just keep walking;
yall niggers talk sh* but keep on walking no direction;
but i understand that you're tryna play your position;
i know you're just talking,only to critisize;
and i see a lot of confusion in your eyes;
the fact that you're learning hip-hop is very nice;
you better know who you're messing with,'cause that's rough; my automated system tells me to let go;
no response to amatures with no flows;
its only useless to chase a dog with no paws;
no dope,but i'm still illmatic;
a life as a mafia niggers get cought;
i'm tryna fix the rap game,the sh* is mixed up;
a criminal for nine years,but i was never locked up;
my room is a ghost house,cops get lost in it;
i know you wonder how nigger,rappers get killed in it.
beat fading out...
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