and

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 Nas is a rebel of the street corner Pulling a Tec out the dresser, police got me under pressure