Don't Hate It - Hell Razah, 4th Disciple

Oh yeah, all in Red Hook

Hustlin', standin’on shit blocks

For hours, 'til the sky crack the next day

Y’all don’t wanna see us blow

Y’all don’t wanna see us with dough

Y’all don’t wanna see us flow

Hell no, we glow

You knew it was the end the way we came in the door

Hit the club and I’ma leave with ya ho, ho, ho My flames be hot, every time that I throw

Ain’t nothin’new, son I did this before, a G.G.O.

My niggas flip money like it ain’t no mo'

Cause ain’t no friends if it ain’t no mo'

On the dirty blocks of Red Hook we learned to get our

first check book

Be a crook and let the cocaine cook

Little brothers turn to workers, cops draw guns just to surge us And question us about the murders until we figure why God cursed us And that this wicked world was never worth us We show respect to the ones who birthed us Took care of us on welfare

, we grown now

Belchin’from beers, smokin’weed in the project stairs

Half of my peers got hit with like 15 years

And the A’s we was at was like 16 years

The graves is callin', opened up for slaves that’s fallen

As the ghetto take the lives of those made for ballin'

Layin’in coffins, cries to the church organ

Some will hustle till six in the mornin’just for the fortune

For a new whip, a venom for flossin', bought a Benz from the auto auction

We broke his window with a piece of porcelain

We stay strapped for those jealousy cats

Layin’hats the same place they do their felonies at You ain’t the only one who sell crack and got gats

A lot of niggas got that, soul left with death and never got back

Some will cock back and pop that, so pop shit without that

Be careful what you follow if you ain’t about that

I’m the R to the A to the S in the flesh

Don’t forget, I’m all about cash, credit and checks

I’ma rap to the death, till Christ resurrect

No less, I come as a threat, get it correct

Hip Hop is a way of life, it’s in my breath

The way I breathe, I step not the way I dress

East to West throw your arms right to left

Give me a mic and a crowd and a turntable set

Ancient twelve, I play with the fires of hell

Only role models that I had was dyin’in jail

Crack sales make a black male wanna weed dwell

600 Benz shittin with a hot female

All I wanna do is records and pay my bills

Why I gotta be hater?

Cause I say what I feel?

I say a prayer then I aim before I spray at will

Y’all only make me wanna kill if you delay my deal

Hurry up and get them contracts, facts and crills

Or I’ma have to put out .38 stainless steel

Engineer, turn my beat up and watch me spill

Hot lava, my throat burns like straight shots of Vodka

Ready To Die like Big Poppa

I put the curse on a witchdoctor

It’s 2G, y’all better spit proper

I like my shorty when she in Prada

You make no sense to this big dollar

I want the cash money, fuck a Oscar

Mothafucker

We ain’t goin’to jail so fuck bail

Baghdad, Hell Razah, hammer and nail

BK to PJ’s for the bangsters

With links with the anchors

You too frail, abide a single street e-mail

Power-trippin'off with them L’s

«Playa hate on my shit, you get a fat dick" — 2Pac (x6)