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Correct How Ya Livin' Lyrics
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Correct How Ya Livin'
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(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) [ VERSE 1: W.C. ] 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 nigger, 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 Nobody 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? [ VERSE 2: W.C. ] 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 spirtitual 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 [ VERSE 3: W.C. ] Booby 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 goddamn VCR came up missin Sprung on the pipe like a fish on a hook Yo, Booby 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 hell 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 Booby 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 see-are-a-see-k destroys the brain Think - somebody want to 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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