[Verse 1:]
We be back street dipping, stacking, flipping
Money coming clean and these laws still tripping
I'm a certified street cat cash flow holder
A double OG with hood stripes on my shoulders
Every now and then a hater make me be a head bussa
South Park son of a Third Ward Hustla
Who came up in the ranks and then tighten up my skill
You just got here last month you capping, let's be for real
If they put some pressure on you boy I bet you blow the whistle
Fool you ain't a man just because you pack a pistol
Out here poisoning your hood you lil ignorant muthafucka
And let the White man condition you to kill your own brother
See gangster is a title earned better learn fast
Not tattoos on your arms or pants hanging off your ass
Your vision of the American Dream ain't what it seems
Open your eyes young homie you fighting your own team
[Hook:]
What you goin do when your hustle fall dead
And boys start checking you on every word that you said
When you start getting snatched by these racist ass hogs
And the friends that you thought you had throw you to the dogs (say)
What you goin do if martial law come around
And these laws rush in and start shutting things down
And the life that you thought was real proof counterfeit
And the money that you kill over's no longer worth shit!
[Verse 2:]
Nowadays it's a known fact snitching is contagious
Half the fools you think is real is Illuminati agents
You flunked the semester with your artificial flyness
Your overall grade in the hood is a F minus
How many blacks do these laws gotta kill
Before we start busting back on their ass with loaded steel?
Listen, instead we see them coming fold up or run
And Preachers scared to square them off that's why I roll with Farrakhan
And they taping conversations every sort
So don't say nothing on the phone that you might hear again in court
Here we are, throwed off the Black family ruined
Analyze today these shit that your kids see you doing
If you been selling dope for ten years and hustling tough
And you ain't rich enough to stop it's time to give the game up
Get your understanding up and try to see the big picture
Bottom line is if they want your ass them bastards gon get ya
[Hook]
[Verse 3:]
Hellified gun fire flying through the night
How many homies gotta die before we get our minds right?
My home girl's a stripper not because of reflation
It's cause her sorry ass don't wanna go get a real occupation
We don't know we God's people so we see our own and flame them
But then again if they ain't got the knowledge then how can you blame them?
Self-righteous ass Negros get hung from a limb
Cause if you got it and you don't teach them then you worst then them
What category do you fall in: the G or the hater?
The sellout or the warrior, the real homie or the traitor?
Hoops or the branches, the angel or the menace?
Fools that sold out to receive or reduce sentence
How the hell you fix your month to say you fighting for freedom
When like a corner store in the hood you just pimp them and bleed them
The Devil's curriculum was formatted to trick them
If you scared of revolution I hope you the first victim
[Hook]
K-Rino is an American rapper and record producer from Houston, Texas. Founder of the pioneering Houston collective called South Park Coalition, K-Rino boasts over 12 solo studio albums and numerous side projects, including albums with the whole South Park Coalition. Considered a pillar of Texan underground hip hop, he is known for his energetic performances and complex lyrics that explore social, political, and spiritual themes. Some of his most representative tracks include "The World Is Yours", "South Park" and "I Am K-Rino".
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