Letra Home Sweet Home por Smif-N-Wessun letra
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(Tek) This is the story of a place, that we call home Where the kids pack heat when it's time to roam Everybody's on the scramble, life's a gamble Hoppin on the white horse, tryin to get a handle On the fast pace that we call the last race Step wit precaution when you enter this place We got a spot on every block that makes ya dreams come true Just come correct wit the snapses or ya doo Don't come cryin broke, still tryin to cop the dope What parts of no, do not you understand bro We can't afford to take shorts or be playing sports Empires need to be built, mack 10's bought Or even caught for them deceased ass hustlers And we still got the pound for ya living muthafuckas What goes around comes back to the roots
See you at the revolution and Crooklyn, true (Chorus) We live in Brooklyn baby We try to make it baby We gonna make it baby We live in Brooklyn baby (Steele) Another day, another dollar dead Pigs rushin the crib to catch a collar now I'm fed What the face now, me and my people's taste crown Stayin face down, while K-9's sniffs around What they found was irrelevant, the weed cuz They was sent to represent and cause a ruckus amongst us
Now I got more pigs rushin we, handcuffin me Takin hold of we, in the custody For blushin in, rasta boy restin in peace After going through the bullshit, we in release To hit the streets, where the war still off for all of y'all Cuz they kept rule locked behind the wall No time at all, no fake, no jacks Perhaps when the gat spins, niggas won't even know what happen I'll be glad when my man come home Cuz in the zone muthafuckas grab ya chrome (Chorus (with Tek shoutin out)) (Tek) The eye three time, as lead transpire
Currency change, change from yours to mine Greenbacks talk bullshit, floats on water Pager goin off, call comin from headquarters I was told if the secret code appears It means some bwoy want dead, prepare for warfare (Steele) Fuck the truth, we bringin the noose for ya loose talk So think smart, or rest in parts if ya do start I fucks wit, the poor, so fuck being rich Word is bond, there's a muthafuckin war goin on Stand strong, on ya own two, mista Or come confront the grim ripper Black hoodie on, black dusty fatigues Bloody red afro, puffin on the black weed (on three)
He lurks in the shadow, so when you sleep in the battle That'll be, and tell ya punk lib to tattle (Tek) Salute, to each and every hood label truth Doin what you gotta do to bring in the loot Huh, the time has come for armageddion Give nurture to your seeds, and load up ya guns, dunn Now catchin vibes, that somethin ain't right Gettin little hits, stomach fillin up tight Damn, these little nappy head cheap trait bastards Run around town wit the cronz trynna blast shit Ain't nuthin sweat like the dark streets of Bedstuy Creepin population, endin up in C.I. (Steele) Take a ride through the Flatbush side See the dred and he caught for support, hit me off wit the lye Now slide, through the ville, death row, say hello To the fam that stick to K.I.M. that's planned Toward the east, somethin's goin on So burn the buds, and all my people in Medina stay strong (Chorus to fade)
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