Представляем точный текст композиции "Foul From The Street" и глубже погружаем в смыслы творчества артиста JT The Bigga Figga . Эта интерпретация слов песни помогает лучше понять смысл заложенный в композицию. Лирика «Foul From The Street» — это не просто строчки, а история, которую JT The Bigga Figga передаёт через ритм и интонации. Изучайте переводы, оригинальные версии и толкования, чтобы раскрыть все грани этого трека.
JT The Bigga Figga - "Foul From The Street"
Lyrics to Foul From The Street : [Chorus:] This is goin out to the youngstas The nappy headed gappy little rumblas The ones robbin stores and them banks and shit Wit the tec-9 gats and them xtra clips The ones wit the glocks, the ones wit the 45s Runnin round the streets doin homicide So peep game from ya boy Bigga Figga And let me tell ya how the shit go 1978 A young nigga born, growin up around the way Born without a daddy shot in the proces Vietnam war, cause he didnt wear a vest Moms was broke, no money in the bank Cause when they was young they used to smoke a lotta dank Been graduated to the dope and the booze Couldnt afford milk, couldnt afford shoes Livin in the projects not tryin to get out Wellfare is poppin and shes tryin to find a spout Son coming up and seeing this shit No time for school cause he gotta pull a lick By this time he did to my click Tomorrow is the first and they all wanna flip Red light bandits caught red handed Now we in the hall when they left his butt stranded Councelor, councelor can I use the phone' Now he kinda scared and he wanna call home No type of guy thats in no type of teaches ... tried to warn him but she seems she couldnt reach her ... Goin to the ramp, sorta like a summer camp In a few weeks he get a home-pass soon When he hit the streets man you know he gonna boom Moms cant tear him off nuttin but a hug But a few close homies gonna show a little love A dub sack here and a dank sack there Who ever said that life was fair Now he got a warrant cause he didnt wanna go back P.O. aint shit and he aint cuttin no slack Now he on the streets and he cant be slippin Cause at the hall we got a y.a. commitment It aint gettin better its only gettin worse I stroke a bad luck, better yet a bad curse The system is set for us to straight failures Ask the O.Gs any black man will tell ya On the way to comin up, got about a G And about 2 Os two more will make a QP Gangstas watch ya back, homies gettin down One more week he be on a half a pound Thats half of a half of a cake ya know Gettin so large they need to call him Mr. Blow Or better yet, call a nigga Mr. B12 Gettin clientele for makin the shit swell Cause back on the street theres a drought on the shit Got to make some money, so its time for a lick Watchin out for the neighbourhood baller, a little bit taller Then the next nigga tryin to pull a motherfuckin trigga Plottin, scheming, waitin for the beamer To pull up so he can run up and put the gun up To the dome, so we can get the cash flow But little did he know that the baller was a pro And waitin for jackers and all type of niggas Wit automatic trigger just waitin to give a Rat-tat-tat and a pop-pop at a young buck Now he stuck and they couldnt give a motherfuck [Chorus] [ Foul From The Street Lyrics ]
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