Before you try to fuck with Ren,
I’ll put two in your ass and you’ll be shittin’ a size 10.
MC Ren, “Real Niggaz,” from N.W.A.’s 100 Miles and Runnin’, 1990.
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Before you try to fuck with Ren,
I’ll put two in your ass and you’ll be shittin’ a size 10.
Everybody want to talk about who this and who that,
Who the realest and who wack, or who white or who black.
Critics want to mention that they miss when hip hop was rappin’…
Motherfucker, if you did, then Killer Mike’d be platinum.
I never had real friends ‘til now…
I never had to steal ends cause that’s foul.
I walk the streets with the baseball bat feelin’ secure,
But I try not to incite fights–that’s immature.
Now there she goes again, the dopest Ethiopian,
And now the world around me be gets movin in slow motion
Whenever she happens to walk by, why does the apple of my eye
Overlook and disregard my feelings no matter how much I try?
I guess it’s true what they say:
When you’re too far gone, ain’t no turning back.
And coming from the Compton, mack, that’s a fuckin’ fact.
Want to know my occupation, home location, and means of transportation?
The correct combination unlocked your placenta…
I got a cellular phone with a rubber antenna,
And a 3-story house, drive a 4-door Ac.
Favorite song of all time? Mobb Deep’s ‘Hit It From the Back’
Fuck the police, comin straight from the underground…
A young nigga got it bad cause I’m brown.
And not the other color so police think
They have the authority to kill a minority.
I think back to when I was robbin’ my own kind,
The police didn’t pay it no mind…
But when I start robbin the white folks?
Now I’m in the Pen with the soap-on-a-rope.
I said it before and I’ll still taught it:
Every muthafucka with a color is Most Wanted.
Little brats yellin ‘Trick or Treat’ all through my screen door,
When y’all should be at home sleep,
Instead of at my front porch 15 deep.
The jack o’ lantern came in handy…
I can turn my porch light out like I ain’t got no candy.
But ain’t that somethin?
You buy a Halloween costume and a pumpkin,
Almost gave your children a heart attack.
It’s a tradition, but who the hell started that?
I never rapped on an R&B record, and I never will.
I got these phony muthafuckas talkin bout ‘Let’s keep it real.’
But they don’t know how to take they own advisement,
Going out, do it solo on an advertisement, commercializing.
Fuckin’ sell out, nigga…this is hip-hop, not fashion.
Some people tell me that I need help.
…Some people can fuck off and go to hell.
Hit the barber for the taper, ‘fore I call Tracy,
Now my ex wanna trace my steps like Dick Tracy.
Chill on the pills love, you think I’m dicking Tracy?
The world is full of bullshitters,
Liars, and triers and quitters,
Coulda-beens, wannabe’s, thought-I-was, isn’t-I-is’s…
And everybody in your business.
Picked up the yoga, put down the soda.
My healthy mind…that’s what’s gon’ help me over.
Life of a stoner (if you still concerned),
I never lose, I only win or learn;
It’s all about your state of mind.
See, it really ain’t about if you eatin’ or not eatin’.
It’s freedom or not freedom. Breathin’ or not breathin’.
Another day, another way, another dollar spent;
Gotta make a revolution out of fifteen cent.
I say ‘cuz’ around Bloods, and I say ‘blood’ around Crips…I’m twisted.
Got Mary, got Lucy, got Molly: that’s wifey, girlfriend and mistress.
We knew we’d be together, we didn’t know when,
But long distance love, never thought it would end.
The feelings never changed until the call came…
You were engaged, I was in pain.
It was such a shame: the timing, it just wasn’t right.
So I say, ‘Good luck,’ and then I say, ‘Good night.’
There comes a time in every man’s life when he’s gotta handle up on his own.
Can’t depend on friends to help you in a squeeze,
Please…they got problems of their own.
Nobody put the crack into the pipe,
Nobody made you smoke off your life.
You thought that you could do dope and still stay cool?
Fool…you played yourself.
Either she love me or she hate me…either way, she crazy.
Real slow hits from the bong…
Make me feel like Cheech,
And I’m kickin’ it with Chong.
Somebody gotta tell you this:
Cancer kills way more Americans than any Arabic terrorist.
We use more money to fight them than finding a cure,
So a little kid sits there with his chemo-therapist.
Hair falling out while his vital signs weaken…
He’ll be dead while his parent are in debt for his treatment.
And I’m not sure why I’m infatuated with death,
My imagination is surely an aggravation of threats…
Maybe cause I’m a dreamer, and sleep is the cousin of death,
Really stuck in the scheme of wondering when I’mma rest.
How can they say feeling good is an addiction?
But the world is full of shit, so I don’t listen,
In fact, ‘we livin’ to die’ is a contradiction.
Can’t live with them…can’t live without them.
But I love a whole lot more than I hate about them.
They look good, feel good, and smell even better,
So why you acting like your mama didn’t use that leather?
‘B word’ this, ‘H bomb’ that.
In the midst all of this, I wonder: ‘Where your moms at?’
Cause if she ain’t one, then tell me where the hate from?
You just calm down, and maybe you can date one.
Buy some flowers, open up some doors.
She needs some tampons? Homie, go to the store.
Vitamin Water, a bottle of Motrin,
Teddy bear, candy bar, something, a token
Of affection, a step in that direction,
…Cause love is about progress, not perfection.
Life is something you can’t borrow and give back;
Here today and gone tomorrow…just like that.
You can take back all the things you give,
But you can’t take back the days you live.
Life is to some people who’ve been on earth
Livin’ every single day for what it’s worth.
I live life just how I please,
Satisfy one person I know: that’s me.
If I upset you, don’t stress. Never forget
That God isn’t finished with me yet.
I feel His hand on my brain…
When I write rhymes, I go blind and let the Lord do His thang.
If Dr. King marched today, would Bill Gates march?
I know Obama would, but would Hillary take part?
What’s the basis when rappers don’t know the basics?
Still not takin’ advice from those I wouldn’t trade places with.
Now I don’t want to be a dopeman, listen:
I didn’t have a dime, a nickel, penny, a pot to piss in.
See, all my clothes had holes and they fit tight,
Pray to God cause it’s hard trying to live right.
Waiting on the train, can’t hang with the street gangs,
Making me insane, putting rain on my whole brain.
But the train means change to better thangs;
Can’t live with the negative and ghetto pains.
Can’t be late, can’t wait to get to where we’re going,
Almost ten to four and I’m sure that the train is showing.
But I ain’t sure where it goes, I don’t really know it,
But I got faith, that’s all it takes to get to where we’re going.
You better recognize, adjust your bifocals;
Your style is local…I sit on the beach in Acapulco.
I put words together like Peter Jennings,
And skate on motherfuckers like Peggy Fleming.
I write raps, and when niggas bite, I clap.
Cause their shit sounds better now.
My motto is: the bigger they are, the more politics involved,
And I revolve at a rate to make your occipital skull plate dissolve.
Techniques delve deep, soooo…don’t sleep, ock, I rock phonics
That got you holdin my dick like your name was Lorena Bobbit.
I got a head full of headaches, a heart that’s full of woes.
I’m constantly singin’ them down home blues, and not many people knows
That leaves me with a twisted view of the whole wide world as I know it…
And I guess I got no choice but to be a poet.
Alright I might…
Have had a little glare when I stared at ya ho.
But I didn’t know she was like that,
She stared right back!
The place I’m from, Santa don’t leave gifts.
In my house, Santa only shoplifts.
Holidays in the hood ain’t no motherfuckin joke,
When people all around you is starving and broke.
Cause if you black and poor, it’s hell;
You only hear gunshots, you never hear bells.
So if you got a way out, then go
Cause it ain’t no fun with Christmas in the ghetto.
Now on the first day of Christmas, my homeboy gave to me
A sack of the krazy glue and told me to smoke it up slowly.
Now on the second day of Christmas, my homeboy gave to me
A fifth of Hendog and told me to take my mind off that weed.
Now by the third day of Christmas, my big homeboy gave to me
A whole lot of everything, and it wasn’t nuthin’ but game to me.
I’m hooked on gin and tonics like your mama’s Hooked on Phonics.
They say sleep is the cousin of death, guess we related…
Cause I’m the most slept on, and the most hated.
If sleep is the cousin of death, then death is the cousin of sadness;
Murder’s the cousin of madness, love is the cousin of that bitch.
Crews talk shit, but in my face they kiss my ass.
Flip the flyer attire females desire,
Baby you can step to this if you admire
The extraordinary dapper rapper…
Keep tabs on your main squeeze before I tap her.
Life’s not a bitch, life is a beautiful woman…
You only call her a bitch because she won’t let you get that pussy.
Maybe she didn’t feel y’all shared any similar interests,
Or maybe you’re just an asshole who couldn’t sweet talk the princess.
Time flies, dreams die, people lose faith,
Tryna hide behind a lie with a straight face.
Make a radio hit: heads criticize it.
Underground classic? Nobody buys it.
So, rap is fucked…
And everything blowing up sounds redundant,
But money talks and bullshit does 9 flat in the 100.
How you know where I’m at when you haven’t been where I’ve been?
Understand where I’m coming from?