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Straight up shit is real and any day could be your last in the jungle
Get murdered on the humble, guns'll blast, niggas tumble
The corners is the hot spot, full of mad criminals
Who don't care, guzzling beers, we all stare
At the out-of-towners (Ay, yo, yo, who that?) They better break North
Before we get the four pounders, and take their face off
The streets is filled with undercovers, homicide chasing brothers
The D.A.'s on the roof, trying to, watch us and knock us
And killer coppers, even come through in helicopters
I drink a little vodka, spark a L and hold a Glock for
The fronters, wannabe ill niggas and spot runners
Thinking it can't happen til I, trap em and clap em
And leave em done, won't even run about Gods
I don't believe in none of that shit, your facts are backwards
Rose is a rebel of the street corner
Pulling a Tec out the dresser, police got me under pressure