Jail Shit

Lyrics

[Intro: Sean Price] Yo, listen (Sean P) This my story I'm sticking to it [Verse 1: Sean Price] 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 [Chorus: Rock] 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 [Verse 2: Sean Price] 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 [Chorus: Rock] 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 [Verse 3: Sean Price] 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 [Chorus: Rock] 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