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Old 10-28-2007, 06:49 PM   #5
Extra Pressa
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Re: (3) Stevoj87 Vs Ballerina P.

We all obtain the same methods for dough
"yeah I've sold cocaine,meth and some dope"
"Yeah I'm from the hood crews'll shank and clap ya"
for the "real" you should feel thankful bastards...
this is the autobiography of a "Gangsta rapper"

Attempting to live up what the label wants is just stressful
can I seriously be real with myself and still be successful?
"you'll be the next 50" "You need a gimmick" is the word
Seeing I lack verbal talent and lived in the suburbs
Absurd! To disrespect the sacred culture of Hop Hop
But I desire the fast cash, ass and the wristwatch
.
Praying this shit stop! I'm different, those lames can't slay-with-precision
no need for pressure, pain-and-submissions, fuck it I've made-my-decision....
.
If I stay true to myself, I just knew this couldn't worsen
the irony, when in the booth, I'm a whole different person

"ack a fooo, dammit I'll hit chu
I keep mo' lead den mechanical pencils!!
frum da grimiest hood,YO! I represent, my residents
I keep a mac dat'll leave you dead like Presidents"

I attempted to end the image that I "bust my gun"
too late, #1 single, Sir-Kil-alot, entitled "I'll cut you son"
In the Radio Station's eyes, it's just a shameless deed
They promote, while the label sells it to brainless teens
Now-a-Days it seems, the kids won't get the right message
and they'd rather learn a dance than to learn a life lesson


We all obtain the same methods for dough
"yeah I've sold cocaine, meth and some dope"
"Yeah I'm from a hood were the crews'll shank and clap ya"
for the "real" you should feel thankful bastards...
this is the autobiography of a "Gangsta rapper".....


Ever since that dreadful day, I haven't went to bed right
now I'm doing interviews looking like a dear and headlights
My bread's right, but the seeds are blind in mis-leaded rhymes
I Sold my Soul for gold, but forgot about my peace of mind
"So Killah, tell us about yourself, we're glad you blown"
yeah, I'm from the Sub.......way, see I never really had a home
as we gather on, I seem nauseous as the interviewer vastly talks
"you ever been shot?" Yes as I point to a bruise from a nasty fall
"How did you survive on your own?" I sold candy just to maintain
"Candy?" umm yeah I sold pills "You mean Ex?"...... uuh same thing
feeling dizzy as I get ready for a concert, I kneel to the stands
The last question "What are your plains?" Keep it real for the fans
the crowd chants as the hype man jumps to increase the thunder
I run out sweating, steaming lights feeling like an Egypt summer
Regretting my previous choices, I'm wanting to do anything but this
rough shit, fatigue and a dry throat from making gunshot ruckus

My heart urgently races on stage as I recite the blown lies
to late right the wrong rhymes, until my microphone dies
or did I just STOP... la oss for words, blank mind none off page
What's the gangster thing to do in this situation? Run off stage

At my hotel room
pacing and smoking, but what's that gonna fix tho?
the clock ticks slow, feeling suicidal, what am I a schizo?
hearing voices in my head, something I can't defend tho
the wind blows, I wave around my .22 peeping out my window
I bust a shot, yelling "REST IN PEACE" is this room my destiny?
a message left, saying put down the gun they want the best for me
One shot to the television feeling like I'm on Con watch
knocks at the door, while the phone is ringing non stop
going in a frenzy feeling it's now or never here the fun stops
Can't run ock, as soon as I answer the door I'm greeted by gunshots~
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Last edited by Extra Pressa; 10-28-2007 at 06:51 PM.
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