文本歌词

It's that pain right here. Haddy Racks…I salute to all the Generals worldwide. SALUTE!
Peace to all the real niggas
Verse 1 (Haddy Racks):
If it wasn't for doing bad, I wouldn't know about doing good
The other day they killed my nigga Gunner in my hood
They shot him in his leg and his chest
A bullet went through his arm
The Doc said he bled to his death
They said a teenager gripped the nine
But the worst part is that he left his wife and two kids behind
We from the hood, where everyday you risking your life
You catch a sentence, your main man is sticking your wife
Make sure your vision is tight
I know Gees who made a killing selling crack
Now they the ones hitting the pipe
Jokes aside, it's hard to keep hope alive
Better chill especially if you're too broke to die
I seen Gunner's hands crossed on his waist
Laying in the the casket, I'm like that got to be the loneliest place
I cant believe they caught him slipping them snakes
He wasn't resting in peace, he had revenge written all in his face
Whole family crying tears, we mad he left
His sons is 13, thinking about revenging his daddy's death
I'm from the Bronx New York, where it's scary at
You wouldn't dare be be at
Where they carry Mack's in their fanny packs
Killers want your life, you gotta ante that
They cant find where you be at
They gone shoot the house of where your granny at
Niggas on jail waiting on their appeal
I'm from New York where the love's so fake but the hate so real
Chorus (Haddy Racks):
Wasn't for bad luck, I wouldn't have love
Wasn't for doing bad, I wouldn't know about doing good
It ain't safe walking through my hood
It could be a beautiful day, you might het hit up with a stray
Verse 2 (Stogie T):
My dude is Cape Malay
Screw face for days
He ain't phased when newspapers
Dont Include where they stay
The blues shape the day
Red alert no music is played
Two layers
Either snake or the flute player's game
A true layer cake
The bottom where the cruel make a stake
No fork and knive, it's life
Held with shoelace in place
Cooks an escape
Hustlin, the crook label stays
Booked for a day, Baptize him
Hood say he made
Pent up rage from a tender age
Turn him to a mental case
Said every face is a dinner Plate
I say 'Ace why you feel this way?'
He wasn't raised in his feelings
Just took another sip of Dusse
Funeral bouquets, mum crying this shit is doomsday
Ain't even miss a school day
Just another Tuesday
This what the rules say you carry til your due date
get taken out when they crowning another fool king
Tats of his two kids, baby mom too lit
She two timing niggas like the '92 Blue Jays
The crew fades
Dead or in jail, peddling cane,
I am no pure Saint
To tell him he can't live how he can
We in the van bumping old tupac shit
He speaks of his dad,
How he got moved by this,
Two blacks kids
Tryna manuoevre through Life's pits
Was it bad luck or bad blood
Who runs this?
Chorus (Haddy Racks):
Wasn't for bad luck, I wouldn't have love
Wasn't for doing bad, I wouldn't know about doing good
It ain't safe walking through my hood
It could be a beautiful day, you might het hit up with a stray