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letra de american made - t-k.a.s.h.

[verse 1]
there’s a war goin’ on within called sin
derived to install division amongst men
denied from allah’s precision, we run thin
from the end of american made, i will begin
and muhammader rasulullah, yet i couldn’t see it
took the gun out of my mouth, couldn’t believe it
the grievance led me to a point where i’d rather stop breathin’
instead of succeed the treason season
i lost my wife, i lost my rights
she took my son, i feel as if i lost my life
i caused the strife, now i’m in an out of state telly
with a celly and a semi, smelly stashed in the hemmy
in the whole ‘nother city, about to start another turf war
still shocked from the one before
the front door was locked with the glock c-cked
and when it opened, i shot, counted the dough and i’m out
yeah

[hook]
i’m still a made man, but i’m a slave, man
i’m still a made man, but i’m a slave, man

[verse 2]
wakin’ up is the beginnin’ of the day that’s flushed
clothes, and hoes, and revenue cars and trucks
and everything that i feel, i claim for a meal
because i’m gettin’ skrill, yet still
i think about the life i lived, nights i slid
the shank up in the club at home, knife and kids
for ice and chips, homicide ain’t a vice you kick
if you addicted to the life you live
i’m sittin’ pretty in another city, i was capone at home
but now i’m frank nitty, i be back in a minute
i’ve been stackin’ a minute, the p-ssion to get it
can actually give you an excuse to clap the trigger
on the real, mane, it’s gon’ sound dumb
but most of the time, i’m really thinkin’ ’bout my son
i should have dodged the draft, but it was all i had
now my son can’t call his dad, it’s all bad, d-mn

[hook]
i’m still a made man, but i’m a slave, man
i’m still a made man, but i’m a slave, man
yo

[verse 3]
it’s gettin’ hard again, i’m movin’ up in rank far again
now it’s all in a foreign land
predictability, stability, so all i know
is feelin’ better when i ball off c-ke with all my dough
i call my folks, now we distant and slick
talkin’ to me on the phone like they listen to this
i’m hip to a snitch, so i pack up, put the strap up
change my number, then dip with the skritch
on a full tank of gas and a one-way p-ss
no need to shake tags ’cause i run they -ss
in the middle of nowhere, i give a cold stare
’cause i know my son probably thinkin’, “daddy don’t care”
but i love my boy, i’m reminiscin’ on my life back home
and how it was if i was employed
but i was fl-stered, annoyed, i had no other choice
i got the strap, put it back in my mouth, and a voice said, “read”

- t k a s h

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