4th Disciple - Angel Tears lyrics

[Intro: Hell Razah] "Rock that sh** homey" - sample 2003, yeah, "yeah, y'all', it's on now It's bout to go down, 20-03, no doubt G.G.O., get your coats [Hell Razah] On the dirty blocks of Red Hook, we learned to get our first checkbook Be a crook, let the c**aine cook Little brothers turn to workers, cops draw guns So they search us, and question us about the murders Until they figure, why, God cursed us And that this wicked world was never worth us We show respect, to the ones who birthed us Took care of us, on welfare, we gold now, belchin' from beers Smoke weed in the project stairs Half my peers, got hit with like, fifteen years And the age we was at, was like, sixteen years Grades was callin', hopin' if the slay's was fallin' Has the ghetto take the lives of those, made for ballin' Layin' in coffins, cries to the church organ Some will hustle til six in the morning Just for the fortune, for a new whip, invented for flossin' Cop the Benz, from the auto auction We broke his window with a piece of porcelein Stay strapped for them jealousy cats Lay they heads, same place they do they felonies at You ain't the only one who sell crack, and got gats Alotta n***as got that, some left with d**h and never got back Some will co*k back, and pop that, so pop sh** without that Be careful what you follow if you ain't about that [Interlude: sample] "We lookin' at the words that you dealin' with remember The beginning was the word... the begininning of your illusion Is based upon, the construct of land, and how language is used Or misused, and how you are ignorant, to how a language is used" [Hell Razah] Age of 12, I played with them brothers in hell Only role models that I had, was dead or in jail Crack sales make a black male, wanna be twelve Six hundred Benz, sh**tin' with a hot female All I wanna do is make records, and pay my bills Why I gotta be a hater, cuz I say what I feel? I say a prayer than I aim, before I can wave at will You gonna make me wanna k**, y'all delay y'all deal Hurry up, and get them contracts, that's for real Or I'mma have to pull out thirty eight, stainless steel 4th Disciple cook a beat up, and watch you spill Hot lava, my throat burn, like straight shots of vodka Ready to ride, like Big Poppa, I put the curse on witchdoctor It's 2G, you better spit proper, and I don't care if your sh** is Prada You make no sense to this big dollar, I want the cash money, f** an Oscar