Game Ain't Based On Sympathy

Reminiscing on that, um

I remember they used to give us that free cheese

A big block of that shit

Yo, man I'm glad y'all ain't gotta get that cheese

Man, I thank God my kids ain't gotta see that cheese

Yo, you know what I'm saying?

You gotta feed it to them raw

Feel me?

Renovatin' the ghettoes, movin' me elsewhere

Daddy didn't see pension, they took his healthcare

Affordable housing, and they fed us welfare

Showed us Tony Montana, teachers couldn't care less

A young prince in Miami, son of a pharaoh

This is deeper than raps, I can't run from the echoes

But I still hear the screams

Under my mattress box-springs

I still see the cream

MAC-11 next to Grammy invitations

I'm never quiet, tell my **** all my aspirations

No more beefin' with rappers, it's just murder or nothin'

New positions to master, I perfected the others

**** shoot for the Magic, never heard of Mutombo

These are lucrative assets, golden words that I mumble

It's the biggest

Corner store was the stage, I needed management

And a mansion that I could squeeze another Phantom in

Negative people just seem to fail first

I said I'm a genius, put in the legwork

You step to my ****, suggest you stay alert

Know I've never been lenient nor a man of mercy

I stick my dick in her, tell her my net worth

Then we stare at each other and see who catch first

A pretty chick, she resemble Stacy Dash

If it was her, she had to kiss my feet and lick my ass

Pussy **** want war, till it's bonjour

This hitter settin' a bomb outside your mom's door

Got your people alarmed 'cause we the armed force

Easy as leakin' a song before I go on tour

Gang violence ongoing, let's fight our own wars

Chicago been outta hand, the city lost it's soul

Funeral every weekend, or either you cremated

Homie's son, he been murdered, he didn't seem faded

Holding guns on the 'Gram, outta my league, baby

Real killers and hitters would rather live nameless

I got a homie I know with a twenty bodycount

Maybe only once or twice a month he leave the house

Older brother type to get a curly perm

Pappy Mason type, respect for holding thirty birds

Never was a gangster, I just wanted in

No longer could I deny that I wanted a Benz

Booby gave me blessings and the roots for me to win

I showed 'em my ambition in two different fields

Also said I was a rapper, Booby, here it is

Real talk, my ****, here it is