Jt the bigga figga foul from the start lyrics

Chorus:  

 This is goin' out to the youngstas  

 The nappy headed gappy little rumblas  

 The ones robbin' stores and them banks and shit  

 Wit the tec 9 gats and them xtra clips  

 The ones wit the glocks  the ones wit the 45's  

 Runnin' 'round the streets doin' homicide  

 So peep game from ya boy Bigga Figga  

 And let me tell ya how the shit go  

  

 1978  

 A young nigga born  growin' up around the way  

 Born without a daddy shot in the proces  

 Vietnam war, cause he didn't wear a vest  

 Moms was broke, no money in the bank  

 Cause when they was young they used to smoke a lotta dank  

 Been graduated to the dope and the booze  

 Couldn't afford milk, couldn't afford shoes  

 Livin' in the projects not tryin' to get out  

 Wellfare is poppin' and she's tryin' to find a spout  

 Son coming up and seeing this shit  

 No time for school cause he gotta pull a lick  

 By this time he did to my click  

 Tomorrow is the first and they all wanna flip  

 Red light bandit's caught red handed  

 Now we in the hall when they left his butt stranded  

 Councelor, councelor can I use the phone?  

 Now he kinda scared and he wanna call home  

 No type of guy that's in no type of teaches  

 ... tried to warn him but she seems she couldn't reach her  

 ...  

 Goin' to the ramp, sorta like a summer camp  

 In a few weeks he get a home-pass soon  

 When he hit the streets man you know he gonna boom  

 Moms can't tear him off nuttin' but a hug  

 But a few close homies gonna show a little love  

 A dub sack here and a dank sack there  

 Who ever said that life was fair  

 Now he got a warrant cause he didn't wanna go back  

 P.O. ain't shit and he ain't cuttin' no slack  

 Now he on the streets and he can't be slippin'  

 Cause at the hall we got a y.a. commitment  

 It ain't gettin' better it's only gettin' worse  

 I stroke a bad luck, better yet a bad curse  

 The system is set for us to straight failures  

 Ask the O.G's any black man will tell ya  

 On the way to comin' up, got about a G  

 And about 2 O's two more will make a QP  

 Gangstas watch ya back, homies gettin' down  

 One more week he be on a half a pound  

 That's half of a half of a cake ya know  

 Gettin' so large they need to call him Mr. Blow  

 Or better yet, call a nigga Mr. B12  

 Gettin' clientele for makin' the shit swell  

 Cause back on the street there's a drought on the shit  

 Got to make some money, so it's time for a lick  

 Watchin' out for the neighbourhood baller, a little bit taller  

 Then the next nigga tryin' to pull a motherfuckin' trigga  

 Plottin', scheming, waitin' for the beamer  

 To pull up so he can run up and put the gun up  

 To the dome, so we can get the cash flow  

 But little did he know that the baller was a pro  

 And waitin' for jackers and all type of niggas  

 Wit automatic trigger just waitin' to give a  

 Rat-tat-tat and a pop-pop at a young buck  

 Now he stuck and they couldn't give a motherfuck  

  

 Chorus