Who’s that peeking in my window?
Goodie Mob, “Cell Therapy,” Soul Food, 1995
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Who’s that peeking in my window?
They love the fact you made it, but hate the fact you got it.
The stairway to heaven is packed…I’m in the lobby.
Too scared to go to sleep, cause most times I often doubt my dreams.
I wanna live like Arnold, Willis and Mr. Drummond…
And keep my paper sturdy, big birds and tight herbs.
I bet you never heard of a playa with no game,
Told the truth to get what I want, but shot it with no shame.
Take this music dead serious while others entertain.
I see they makin’ they paper so I guess I can’t complain…or can I?
I feel they disrespectin’ the whole thang.
Them hooks like sellin’ dope to black folks,
And I choke when the food they serve ain’t tastin’ right,
My stomach can’t digest it even when I bless it…
Will I die slain like my King by a terrorist?
Will my woman be Coretta, take my name and cherish it?
Or will she Jackie O., drop the Kennedy, remarry it?
Love comes in every color, but the fact is…
I never needed 50 Shades of Grey,
Just turn the lights down low and give me every shade of blackness.
I ain’t never gave a fuck, I never did and never will.
Live my life on principle: keep it true, keep it real.
Better said, I keep it TRILL and no matter who don’t like it,
Homie, that just it how it is, naked truth
Like that stripper that’s in front of me,
And I keep a blunt, and a Bible, and a gun on me.
You’ve got to realize that the world’s a test,
You can only do your best and let Him do the rest.
You’ve got your life, and got your health,
So quit procrastinating and push it yourself.
The route to all evil…daily I chase it.
Blow it on weed and drink, and hustle to replace it.
Fuck a blog, dog, cause one day we gon’ meet.
Fuck a medic, we gon’ call yo ass a taxi cab,
Bleedin’ so hard you need a life-size maxi pad.
I remember when I fell from my first bike:
There were no ‘Are you okays?’ and rarely ‘Are you alrights?’
Just dirt in my pockets, handful of gravel…
That’s when I realized that getting up is only half the battle.
Everybody’s got opinions on the way you’re livin’,
But see, they can’t fill your shoes.
The line between playing to win and sin is thin,
But I walk it with grace and I talk it with taste.
I am that raw, simply put, and I rest my case.
We brag on havin’ bread, but none of us are bakers.
We all talk havin’ greens, but none of us on acres.
If none of us on acres, and none of us grow wheat,
Then who will feed our people when our people need to eat?
So it seems our people starve from lack of understandin’
Cause all we seem to give them is some ballin’ and some dancin’,
And some talkin’ about our car and imaginary mansions.
We should be indicted for bullshit we inciting,
Havin’ children deaf and pretendin’ it’s exciting.
We are advertisements for agony and pain.
We exploit the youth. We tell them to join a gang.
We tell them dope stories, introduced them to the game.
I don’t respect killers, I respect O.G. knowledge,
Codes of the streets got new rules, but no guidance.
Lessons, detrimental to a young disciple;
Folks, take care of your brothers, niggas do as I do.
Keep your enemies close, where they can see you.
It’s not your enemy who get you, it’s always your own people.
We can’t complain for this borrowed time;
So don’t misuse yours, cause you can’t borrow mine.
The passion of Pac, the depth of Nas, circa 9-3,
Mix the mind of Brad Jordan and Chuck D and find me.
I spit with the diction of Malcolm or say a Bun B,
Prevail through Hell, so Satan get ye behind me.
The moral of the story is: Keep your mouth shut.
Cause everybody’s listenin’; speak and you fucked up.
I tell you like them old cats say:
Get what you get, and get your ass out the way.
Cause greed’ll get you 35 tight,
You 27…that’s the rest of your life, right?
You see y’all got it all wrong like women in tuxedos,
And comin’ up shorter than five Danny DeVitos.
I’m on a cool ranch…get laid more than Fritos,
With five strippers, four wives and three amigos.
I go scuba divin’ in Bays at Montego,
I find gold links and snatch ‘em like I’m Deebo.
But I’m the light-skindeded version of Mandingo,
I’ve seen more Beatles and Jagged Edges than Ringo,
I used to run numbers in line they called me ‘Bingo.’
When I drink a brew for you, I pour some on the block, son.
You might be gone, but you damn sure ain’t forgotten.
Most people don’t make love no more,
They just fuck and they fight.
What happened to the stay-togethers?
I’m with you, and that means forever.
Through every ghetto I carry the heavy metal,
Just in case a shovel is needed when arguments are settled.
Before you act black,
Or try to dress black,
You better be born black,
Or I’ll call your shit wack.
Think you figured it out, but you don’t have a clue.
Think you on top of the world, but the world on top of you.
I think if Adam would have had another squeeze he might
Not have ate those fruits from the leaves of life.
Far as Eve…there couldn’t have been a more deceiving wife;
Seeing the nigga had a weak spot, and she was right.
I love Dr. King, but violence might be necessary;
Cause when you live on MLK and it gets very scary,
You might have to pull your AK, send one to the cemetery.
This year Halloween fell on a weekend
Me and Geto Boys are trick-or-treatin’
Robbin’ little kids for bags…
God really exists, I tell you like this:
It resides inside.
And anybody tell you different,
Just selling you religion,
Tryin’ to keep your ass in line.
They say ‘Love Jesus’ and ‘Listen to your pastor,’
But Jesus told the truth, and the pastor’s a lying bastard.
All he talk about is economic elevation,
And all Jesus talked about was soul salvation.
Jesus sat with the sick and he walked with the poor,
If He gave blood for our sins, why we giving more?
I got some Gangster Disciples at church with me tonight,
With five dollars worth of gas, and a matchbook to light.
Bitch, I’m coming live from the trunk and I thrive on the funk;
Cause I’d rather die like a man than survive like a punk.
I met a gypsy and she hipped me to some life game,
To stimulate, then activate the left and right brain.
Said, ‘Baby boy, you only funky as your last cut.
You focus on the past, your ass’ll be a has-what.’
That’s one to live by, or either that’s one to die to.
You download it for free, we get charged back for it.
I know you’re saying, “They won’t know, they won’t miss it,
Besides, I ain’t a thief, they won’t pay me a visit.”
So, if I come to your job, take your corn on the cob,
And take a couple kernels off it, that would be alright with you?
I’m so Rakim and Eric. B, bitches check out my melody.
I might Slick Rick on a fella…catch me a felony.
I might Shyne Po a ho…POW! Catch me a case.
Producto must have rolled the L because this blunt feels laced.
I make niggas eat dirt and fart dust,
Then give you a $80 gift certificate to Pussies “Я” Us.
When you feeding on hate, you empty, my nigga. It shows.
We missed a lot of church, so the music is our confessional.
My momma did her part,
But it ain’t her fault that I was born without a heart.
In other words: I’m heartless dude.
I don’t love me…how the fuck I’mma love you?
Others tell like it is, while I tell it how I would like it to be.
I got a girl and she treat me fine,
But the homies all think that I’m losin’ my mind.
I’m trippin’ and I know it cause I’m all nerved up,
Cause everytime I go to sleep, I see this big ol’ butt.
See, I ain’t never gave no chick 4 stars,
But she treat me so good that she be drivin my car.
And every day it get better, I can’t lie,
Went to the house and she made me some hot potato pie.
All my friends be sayin, “She ain’t nothin but a scrub!”
But she make me feel high like I’m hooked on drugs.
So I give her what she need, and what’s done is done,
But I’m a special kind of fool but ayo, it don’t bother me none.
I can’t help myself, I know that I’m trippin’,
But she got it goin’ on like Kentucky Fried Chicken.
Life can change your directions, even when you ain’t planned it.
All you can do is handle it, worst thing you can do is panic.