lirik lagu how ya livin’ – low profile
-the beat is dope-
-yup-
-word to the mother-
-ah yeah-
-and it goes a little somethin like this-
-good god-
-the beat is dope-
-yup-
-word to the mother-
-and it goes a little somethin like this-
how ya livin, a brother kill another for a color
now his family’s forced to sit and suffer
gang violence strikes again, the sound of a trigger
news at 11, now it’s one less n-gg-r, they figure
self-destruction, bro, you’re goin low
how can you kill a person you don’t really even know?
in jail you played hard until one slapped you silly
turned you over like a girlie and rode you like a sissy
trapped behind bars in the middle of nowhere
doin 10 to 20, braid another brother’s hair
on the streets you was dope, you wasn’t a joke, n-body could cope
you was the king of the dope
shoot a brother in a minute, man, that was your duty
but now you’re in jail, just givin up the booty
spread em, i’ma show you what it’s like in a jail
i kick reality, this ain’t a crickett fairytale
you said you had heart, homeboy, how do you figure
can you prove it without keeping your finger on the trigger?
you’se a punk, a peon, a buster, bound to run
never usin your fist, always grabbin a gun
trigger-happy with the gat, brain stiffer than a manakin’
shot an old lady, but you claim it was a accident?
drop the sawed-off, you must be illin’
i got a question, homes, how ya livin’?
the beat is dope, so i come off smooth, no need to yell it
now what i seen on the streets, i gotta tell it
smokers on the corner at the rock house shack
tryin to scuffle up some money for a 10 piece crack
and this is critical, pitiful, life has become more difficult
children on the corner holdin automatic pistols
taught and trained at a young age to kill another
but the bad thing about it is, we’re killin each other
brothers killin brothers over man-made material
it’s a like a epidemic, better yet venereal
only if you knew that we was dominant original
we’d be prepared mentally as well as physical
some say to make it though, it’s gonna take a miracle
but they can’t hold you back, brother, when you’re spirt-tual
drop the 40 ounce, you must be illin
yo aladdin, break it down while i ask em how they’re livin
yo
let me tell you bout this crackhead i know
b–by was a crackhead smokin that dust
like a fool, he was a sucker i never could trust
used to let him in my house, he didn’t need no permission
until my godd-mn vcr came up missin
sprung on the pipe like a fish on a hook
yo, b–by got labelled as a neighborhood crook
seen him with a color tv in his hand
walkin down the streets sparked, lookin for the dopeman
skinny as h-ll from just hittin the pipe
lost his job, his two kids, the beautiful wife
he’d sell his mother if you gave him a chance
long as b–by got a piece of crack in his hands
hey yo, you know what’s sad, or should i say it’s a shame?
the way c-r-a-c-k destroys the brain
think – somebody wanna see these things
another dumb brother just smokin cocaine
suckin up crack until your lips turn purple
from rehab to rehab, you’re runnin in a circle
it’s mandatory i touch this category
that’s why i made it simple, self-explanatory
it shouldn’t take long for me to state what’s on my mind
why should i sit and write a 10-minute-long rhyme?
hey yo, drop the 40 ounce, you must be illin’
so i conclude this rhyme with how ya livin’?
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