Jail Shit - Sean Price, Rock

Who this?

Sean Price, groovy shit

Catch a body cop out to a two to six

Lesser charge, yo don’t even stress the sarge

That’s my girl pops, why you think she bless the God?

Weed and dope, anything you need to smoke

For the Kings, Ñetas, triple B’s and Locs

Five Percent niggas, ayo, peace God

Knife in ya' hand, tryna get a damn piece, God

Ain’t nothin' left to do but pull out ya' piece, God

Dig in they face, until you tear out a piece, God

Hearing some things, overall, fearing no things

Set it off on a German, do a year in the bing

You done grown dreadlocks, did a bid in the bing

You done blown head bop, turned queer in the bing

You should hang it up pa, can’t take this stuff

But wait, pops died, go to wake in cuffs

Bitch

You come home to the streets, niggas raising hell

Fightin', cuttin', damn it’s the same as jail

Only the grimy get over, ain’t no making bail

Get torn out the frame if ya' frame is frail

I hope and pray my first born be next to parole

Tired of liftin' weights, playin' chess with stones

I’m tired of things, tired of the riots and gangs

Tired of the jack mac, calimari and Tang

When I come home ma, I swear to God I’ma change

But when I, come home, you know the God won’t change

I’m bluffin' for real, girl you know the fuck is the deal

Soon as I touchdown, I need to puff on the real

Bang my first floor pa, now I’m focused, free

But caught a violation for smoking weed

As the cop escort me, as I troop to a cell

With a smile, but inside I’m feeling stupid as hell

Man I’m 29 going on 30, kid

Can’t be getting locked up for no dirty dick

You come home to the streets, niggas raising hell

Fightin', cuttin', damn it’s the same as jail

Only the grimy get over, ain’t no making bail

Get torn out the frame if ya' frame is frail

My life is in danger, my son set it off on the imam

Niggas being easy, how the fuck can you be calm?

Looking bad son, them niggas deep as hell

Realizing all my motherfuckin' peeps is frail

It’s just me, Killa, Rum Dick, Psyche and Will

Dee and a crackhead named Mike from the 'ville

If I die, yo I’m going out with knives in they grill

All my motherfuckin' life I been real, yo

Yo, ayo this one for all my real niggas

You come home to the streets, niggas raising hell

Fightin', cuttin', damn it’s the same as jail

Only the grimy get over, ain’t no making bail

Get torn out the frame if ya' frame is frail

You come home to the streets, niggas raising hell

Fightin', cuttin', damn it’s the same as jail

Only the grimy get over, ain’t no making bail

Get torn out the frame if ya' frame is frail