Hip 2 Tha Skeme

See, I ain't never had shit
But my strife and my game and my life
And all thems is just hand-downs from my granddaddy
Limpin', the closest black folks ever came to pimpin'
Stealing, hustling food stamps for that '94 Caddy
How many days can I stretch this box of grits
Shit never quits I'm a brother pitching fits
Or pitching shit
I use my mouth where I lack muscle
Anything to make the rent
Yo give up the hustle
I know the U.S. economy and I could run it
I'm about to make these four dollars into four hundred
Ain't nothing happening but the serious gank
While they got billions in the bank
We just got money on the dank
And when we got fresh rims we on top
On top of what when the kitchen's table's on hock?
Gun on cock but we seen it in the past
Make a fast dash for the cash be gangsta leaning on your ass

Twenties and tens, its all about making ends
No need to sin to uplift a California living
But I grin, 'cause all I remember as a tot was them OGs
Gankin' motherfuckers with them Glocks
And now the rocks is in my pockets
And my spot's hot like the Hawaiian tropics
A taskforce topic spent six months in C.Y.A
Even though the yay is brought in by the C.I.A
See, I'm a motherfucka that's done some dirt for my meal ticket
But I've learned quick you gots to deal with it
Well I did for twenty-two fucking years
You damn straight my homies been laid when we all shed tears
And its clear to my ear I had to learn that knowledge
'Cause after 12th grade I had to say fuck college
And the knowledge no longer will I waste my time
Diploma stuck in my hand
But I'm stuck to the grind
I'm steady mobbing
Back to the police station
They checking me but it's inflation that's doing this taking
No hesitating, can't be waiting let me do my thing
I was hooked like a fiend, but now I'm hip to tha skeme

I heard "recognize game when it's in your face"
I'm spitting the game so close to you
You could feel the wet trace
If everybody in the hood had a Ph.D
You'd say "that doctor flip that burger hella good for me!"
Two hundred thousand brothers marching, one mind, one place to go
Ain't no revolution, they just walking to the liquor store
Here take a swigger so its quicker bro the nigga-ro
Just wants to get through the rigamarole
I been here before
A typical hoe ain't really no different
Except that she would know that can't no prostitute
Become a pimp up in this system
It'd be more drama than a soap opera daytime spot
But ain't no twist up in this cemetery plot

Since 1954 Pop's been hustling for that dough
My girl been putting out cross that wick like she's a specialized pro
This shit is getting steep
I'm getting ill ready to kill
The only thing I can inherit is an overdue bill
Now its six in the morning
I stride to the ride
As I glide down the street
I can't get too far 'cause my gas is kissing "E"
I'm not yet free
But you don't hear me though
Unless you creeping slow past my drive-through window

Now if you wondering 'bout my fucked-up fickle frown
It's 'cause I'm thinking 'bout how the wealth don't trickle down
Listen to that beat nickle pound as my homies in the back
Pass the nickle bag around, and I'm looking at the street
Through the fogged up windows knowing if I was walking
I'd be smelling stench or piss or stale pussy in your window
I ask "When those stores get closed down?"
A system that eats itself got it looking like a ghost town
No proof of purchase here my ass is purchase-proof
Analyzed how they fucked us like if I was Dr. Ruth
I'm uncouth with the truth they started with nothing
Robbed and ganked and killed
Ain't no po folks getting rich
Unless some caps is getting peeled
Except for a couple of motherfuckas who gon' live the token scene
Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous
Front page of the magazine
But that's a known trick
Tell them suck their own dick
I'm hip to the skeme
I'm finnsta bring up the whole clique