Where are all the homies at? I don't see ya' all. Are you hiding, when I'm riding on my bike. Like real gangsta. Im not Like you homeboys, ya' all are just lowboys. Im not sceared of my City, and I'm not hippy. But you're like: " Im so tuff, I'm soo rough, I'm the real man"! You can't kill someone with the pan. Not goin' out no more.Why!? You think yo're better than us, Mistake. You are fake, take a break. And think about the hood,what we did for ya'. And u just leve us, just Like thath, home practicing math. I gess thath's better than hangin out. No doubt, yo're not homie no more, there's a war in our block. Someone shooting with da' glock:"Watch out fireeee!!!! Where are u you now, sceared wow. Shoud I yell, or shoud I go in hell. No love for hood, no homies just Pistols, man, the are throwin' missles. What shoud I do next, shoud I wrote another text? See I'm bored too. Everythang were great beafore a year, when we start our gang career. We were having fun, there were no gun. Just remember we were drawin' graffiti, playn' basketball, and noboady were tall. Such a good Times, I was havin' good rhymes. Now surviving, and writhing. Where are u you now, sceared wow. Shoud I yell, or shoud I go in hell. No love for hood, no homies just Pistols, man, the are throwin' missles. We Will meet on top, behind the shop. There were always a lot of cops, and a rap gods. Just remember we didn't left you, you left us. Where are u you now, sceared wow. Shoud I yell, or shoud I go in hell. No love for hood, no homies just Pistols, man, the are throwin' missles!!! Rakovac Records in da' house, west side, bloody9.