Ransom - Humble Beginnings lyrics

[Verse 1] For the dumb, deaf and blind, come and touch braille Here’s a little motivation for your rough trails Enough tales ’bout them drug sales I’m from the school of hard knocks, n***a, f** Yale Wipe the prints, then I’m out, n***a, f** jail Cause I’ll be here to hold ’em down when your bluff fails Rack of lamb, rosemary and some cut kale (?) blow on the jet, now we upscale I’m bound to win, cause those who counting on me is now counting me out But if we counting the money, my n***a, then count me in Know your worth, we all can’t be the sun of the earth A hard pill to swallow, and all you want is the perks Here it is, life imitating art We used to watch Scarface, now we play the part Say hello to the bad guy Mr Miyagi with them sticks if he act fly I’m that live, two K’s get ’em baptized Cause black lives only matter when the cash high, is that right? This a masterpiece There’s No Limit til there’s nothin left in the tank That’s word to Master P You shouldn’t clash with me Cause no spirit don’t respect the d**h in your rank Them n***as half asleep, yeah I’m half poet, half preacher A street chemist with a gla** beaker, I’m that ether, huh Usain Bolt with a fast sneaker Dr. Dre with his last speaker, the black reaper, ha I praise God cause I plays hard They use gimmicks in they music to enslave y’all I don’t put my faith in nothin I can’t pray for The richest place on this planet is the graveyard I hope these fakes understand that I’m the savior If you slaves understand it take your chains off, yeah [Hook] This is simply the intro, my n***a I’ma switch B’s and tempos, my n***a I’ma flip G’s like Creflo, my hitter I’ma grip, squeeze and let go the trigger Like bla-ow.. like bla-ow.. Like bla-ow.. like bla-ow.. [Verse 2] I’m a hero to the real, a villain to a fake coward Never a time that you would take ours This real life man, this ain’t Power No Ghost story, there’s no glory It’s so gory, you would swear Stephen King wrote for me I’m Forest Whitaker, I’m Ghost Doggie I’m O-Dog with his broke 40 I’m George Jung spillin coke on me I’m so street that you won’t cross me, so don’t force me, nah Don’t wanna hear about that TEC’s you squeeze, or Makin money is your speciality, or Your side b**hes or that ex you leave I know The Score, I got stripes I could ref you G’s, huh Black hoodies, black SUVs Play the game or cut throats if it’s necks you need, huh The sh** too fun, I grip, you run I’m Shining, the black Nicholson, that’s real game for ya [Hook] [Marcus Samuels harmonizing until fade]