Ain’t No Tellin

Lyrics

[Intro] (Statik Selektah) [Verse 1: Bun B] I seen a whole lot of shit in the streets in the last fifty Had people smile in my face, behind my back, actin' shifty Seen lifelong friendships quickly turn into enemies So even inside the good, there's bad memories Now, I survived the worst attempts that people had for me But I ain't cried 'bout it like I'm just a sad story I know a lot of folks had it worser than I did And they ain't complain about it, how the fuck can I? Shit I'ma put my problems back in my duffel Man, I'm just grindin' and hustlin' I ain't lookin' for trouble Goddammit, I got enough of my own I'm just tryin' to spit a couple of poems Pick up some bread and go on back home I'm tryin' to stay up out of the fuckery And I ain't finna fuck with you as long as you don't fuck with me 'Cause if you came from where we came and saw what we saw You'd know how hard it is to find your balance like a seesaw [Verse 2: 38 Spesh] Uh, ayo It's more important things we should cherish Fuck money, that piece of paper mean nothin' like an illegal marriage Everything I speak coherent My vocab deep like the elites, but please pardon my street appearance You ain't know I was a single parent My kids depend on me to stay away from evil spirits I made a promise not to bring up merit But I'm a wolf that don't care about wool, my nigga, I don't hunt sheep to share it Huh, I'd rather eat than wear it Since y'all spend money on jewels, at least get some decent carats Y'all financially embarrassed Even when I ain't have, I re'd-up with my last, with my last, that's being fearless When y'all was out here being careless I wanna say thanks, mistakes y'all made gave me awareness Don't even compare it You watchin' season four of your favorite show, I'm eatin' out at Four Seasons in Paris Trust [Verse 3: Grafh] I give it up for my loved ones Tell the opps we up one, tell the cops suck one A real woman know a real nigga when she touch one I took a brick and I turned it into my kids' trust fund Dolo with no plus one, back on 'em I don't care if you strapped, I seen niggas get clapped with the strap on 'em Every pan that my mama put back, I put crack on 'em And whoever sent the witchcraft went back on 'em It's whiplash, yet I still smash the back block with it Fake-ass nigga, the gangster got ass shots in it My stash box got a black mop in it The stash Glocks the head shots half the size of a padlock in it Your stash box got a laptop in it We smash on 'em, me and Bun beat and mash on 'em Trash rappers, we Scooby Snack on 'em In New York, when rappers get they jewelry snatched, we the dudes that get they jewelry back for them (Research that) He strapped with the booby trap on him And the gun smoke make it look like the Uzi transforming And I gave a Gucci bag to a groupie last morning God told me cool it, I used my last warning Man, pray for me [Outro: Haile Supreme] I done seen a lot of things you can't televise Leave that bullshit at home tonight Throw that weakness to the fire Ain't no tellin' when the temperature's right I done seen a lot of things you can't televise Leave that bullshit at home tonight Throw that weakness to the fire Ain't no tellin' when the temperature's right Oh, ain't no tellin'