[...I think underground is
whatever, your mood or your feelings might be at the time
So long as it's the truth... truth... truth...]
Verse One:
I could tell the pimped-est story
About street homicide, and make it sound gory
Cause you know, shit be happenin everyday
And then on the weekends twice as much shit comes into play
So I better watch my back or
I might get caught up, in a fuckin crack war
So I use the back door, cause the front ain't safe
Seven different brothers got stuck and I don't wanna be the eighth
Don't make no sense
Walkin through my own neighborhood I feel tense
Don't wanna carry no gun
Cause the cops be stoppin us, and pattin us down just for fun