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letra de america - 8ball

[verse 1]
i’m a serial k!ller, spittin’ murder words
mayn, i was hard ‘fore you n—-s even heard of ’verts
i been runnin’ with some hungry n—-s out the wind
ran through h-ll and i’m ready to go back again
mic in my hand, i’m not afro or african
if anything, i’m an american n—a hustlin’
dogs in the yard, and my jewelry got plenty rocks
always loved b.i.g. and motherf-ckin’ 2pac
keep it in the hood, keep it hood call me robin hood
except i got a .45 and i’m tippin’, grippin’ wood
i’m not a k!ller, i don’t think i’m some bad n—a
though when i’m with you i keep my finger on the trigger
n—-s be snitchin’ then go talk about it with their b-tches
can’t walk in public ’cause they scared them boys come and get them
can’t do nothin’ for ’em, can’t do nothin’ but ignore ’em
when they get him, he gon’ wish he wasn’t f-ckin’ born

[hook] x4
america – home of the free, land of the brave
that made every n—a like me

[verse 2]
wake it up, sleep, for the weak and the broke n—-s
son here shine like he live up on the coast
n—a, raw when i spit it, take a minute ‘for you really get it
straight gutter lyrics like my motherf-ckin’ mouth sh-tted
i learned from n—-s, used to watch ’em now i’m livin’ like ’em
rich or poor, it’s a b-tch try’na break the cycle
my pops was in the streets so naturally i’m in the streets
watchin’ how the hustlers dress and how the pimps speak
i took a page from the book and wrote my own laws
no cut, straight dope, cooked up a 8-ball
now they call me 8ball, fat boy, tight flow
[?] a little kid, he kinda good like a dyk- hoe
hard top, black tint, whole car bulletproof
the body, the windows, the tyres and the rims too
hennessey and weed, i’m a fiend for the good dro
8ball, fat boy, momma call me [?]
[hook] x4
america – home of the free, land of the brave
that made every n—a like me

[verse 3]
i come from memphis, tennessee, whether you know it or not
the city where martin luther king got shot
my folks picked cotton, got no education
fought and made it easier for my generation
and how we pay ’em back, we k!ll our own kind
murder innocent n—-s who grind for they own shine
go and do the time, come back home like it’s all fine
but all that weed and all that drink keep f-ckin’ with yo mind
somebody look away and you be like a pitt scratchin’
ready to pull somethin’ out and get to cl!ck clackin’
and you don’t know that’s what they want you to do
it’s a trap, made to catch up n—-s like me and you
it’s a shame all the petty sh-t, for bread we’ll do
send your soul straight to h-ll, try’na keep up with your crew
my word’s true, and i ain’t never gon’ front
i’m a field n—a, momma didn’t raise no punk

[hook] x4
america – home of the free, land of the brave
that made every n—a like me

- 8ball

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