Chorus (x1)
time is short and my life is sick
thatand's how it is man look at this shit
you get abused by street platoons
hit you like wind and what-cha gonna do?
we break circles of enemies blocks
get shot with defeat
they say no drive-byand's on the street
so mutha-fuckas run rival sweeps
Sick platoons flood the streets of los
like a sick typhoon
mutha-fuckas drive by world wide
and everybody you and i know dies
the only guarantee in life is death
your last breath
come when your famo least expect it
soldier run wild in your song
red dawn strikes your back in dead and'nam
your mindand's flipping but the sceneand's dead calm
and your whole worldand's thrown
and wrapped in psyclone
alright ride through the city like that
pants, t-shirts are creased and stole gats
la undercover shoot to kill
child of the streets run wild in war fields
scheming on pigs that start shit
guilty treat us all dirty filthy
The streets are flooded
with budded corrupted minds running
those who canand't cut it
leave the hoodlum studded ghetto
wondering what is
the excuse or reason for high treason
in blasting season leaving
one of your color bleeding
repeating never stopping body droppingand'
hood rocking window glocking zone shocking
defending pavement attacking,
facing arraignment
jailand's enslavement shackled for justice
to the plaintiff
when the charges stick thatand's it
you get hit with some bid
for what you did prevent and rid some kid
of his chance to live
cause of the block he lives in
not giving a fuck just trying to win
your block ribbon
glock driven joining street platoons
like itand's some fashion
going out of style so you catch it
for some action
itand's no joke homeboys get smoked,
poked, and'cause they provoke
locked on dope no hope for growth
thatand's why weand're broke
short pocket street criminals
fail to lock it but crime sky rockets
so where the fuck is the profit?
maybe in hands of those
who supply drugs and weapons
letand's take that shit back by forming
neighborhood connections
Chorus (x1)
