Tom: F# minor•
Intro 1
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Verse 1
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Took my mind on this road, you too
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I took my mind on this road,
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I take your mind on this road, you do
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I took my mind on this road,
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I don't know why niggas
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keep fucking with me
These streets make it so
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hard to breathe
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High s and my lows
Look both ways,
where I'm supposed to go
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Ah, shit, get out my pocket
The stench from the smoke
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Winos in the alley,
Demons in they eyes, glassy,
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Wake up sober, kill you for a cold one
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Snotty nosed rascals, big ratchet toters
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Give it up slowly, click,
Something like Velcro, stay
attached to corners
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Hood rats plotting,
riding for the blue cheese
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All for the Gram, grams and a new weave
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All they gotta spend expands,
Niggas taking chances,
tip- toeing with two P's
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weak or strong they do bleed
Candle light vigils,
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Bullets have a name defined
by different calibers
Concrete jungle,
beware of different challengers
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Gotta have the stomach for dookie bags
Play your cards right or
be scratching off them calendars
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I don't know why niggas keep
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These streets make it so hard to breathe
Highs and my lows
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where I'm supposed to go
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Ah, shit, get out my block
These waters are murky,
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Murder rate merging,
Guess you gotta play street
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versions of a surgeon
Keep beat bursting,
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closing down all your curtains
When shit don't go right,
D
gotta question your purpose
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Denim with them serpents coming
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EBT, zero balance, worthless
You either leave in limousines
Too much bad blood,
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You started the problem you motherfucking
Politicking, a lot of liquor,
that be the answer
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They Marlboro, trying to trick them,
A
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they be the cancer
Gotta get that loose change,
D
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you gotta kick a nigga brain
Like your name Liu Kang,
Stop, look, listen,
that's the words to live by
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Know you gotta stake your claim,
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I don't know why nig
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gas keep fucking with me
These streets make it so hard to breathe
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Highs and my lows
Look both ways,
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where I'm supposed to go
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Ah, shit,
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get out my pocket
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A force from the rap game my nigga,
this ain't a circus
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There's no Ringling Brothers,
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Clowned ass niggas get marked out daily,
trucked out lately
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Bitch niggas get they hat brought to them,
you don't communicate
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Well hands and the gat talk to you,
Don't think fast,
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you end up getting a combo
Think situations is calm,
Sleeping in the bando,
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it's either death or jail
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Something you never planned for,
Wake up shivering,
D
pillow next to a lamppost
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Straight up out the motherfuckin'
One stops leave you with dope,
socks is not boxed
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No rats, re- rock that got
them all losing weight
Got all they teeth shot but
got a sweet spot
Gotta call up Dr. Dre just for the Detox
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All of this in one zip code,
keep the streets hot
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I don't know why niggas
keep fucking with me
These streets make it so hard to breathe
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where I'm supposed to go
A#m
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Ah, shit, get out my pocket
Outro 1
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