Mac Mall Lyrics

Album: Unknown

Ghetto Stardom

Now when I just made 12 years old 

My mama told me:'Baby boy you know you gotta be strong 

And even though they lead you wrong stay on the right track 

Cause it ain't no get right without some get back.' 

Yeah I heard that but back then I didn't feel it 

Cause I was rollin' do or die tryna see me a ticket just kickin' 

G block I said I'll never leave 

Even when the rollers chase me down til I can't breathe 

Nigga freeze, who me? Oh, never that! 

I'm hittin' fence after fence until I'm chillin' at my doormat 

Like a mack I had to get away 

Cause I'm a smooth operator, ask Shanda 

But the rollers in the V is so shady 

If they could, they would plan something on me 

But really, them ain't the fools I gotta worry 'bout 

Cause white folks goin' loced in the white house 

And I doubt a republican or democrate 

Gives a fuck about us young inner city blacks 

It's a trap, Uncle Sam keeps cursing me 

Rather have me in the pen than the university 

Yeah, it's a shame but mane, that's how it is 

So ya better peep game and try to lace ya kids 

Cause it ain't no tellin' what's soon to come 

When the punk president might drop the bomb 

Got me all stressed out with my brain on numb 

My little cousin asking me where dope come from 

Chorus: 

They try to tell us in the verses and the scriptures 

But I guess the real message must have missed us 

In '96 all my brothers and my sisters 

Is on a mission, we're trippin' livin' senseless 

Tell me, will I see the sun in days to come 

Will blacks be the victors instead of victims 

Or will my people keep killing over fuckin' crumbs 

Pushin' dope just to reach ghetto stardom 

If you ask Mac Mall who I'm voting for 

I say:'Farrakhan' as I'm hittin' the bomb 

I .. to the swisher or the dohja spliff 

Get elevated to another as I reminisce 

About fresh candy paint and peanut butter tops 

Young hustlers havin' paper, livin' top notch 

And then the D-game straight decline 

And all you Sawyer turf niggas makin' headlines 

10 o'clock news or America's most 

Unsolved mysteries, you better soak some dope 

Then the judge starts droppin' the injuries 

On all the gangstas, playahs, macks and G's 

And you know you wont see 'em til about 2 thou' 

Cause ya boy got washed with a faulty assed trial 

But at least one day he gone be free 

Some soldiers ain't never gonna see the streets 

That's why I keep servin' game over my beats 

So all my people, in and out, can straight feel me 

Chorus 

There is nowhere for me to run 

Nowhere for me to hide from reality 

But I don't wanna be a casualty 

Of another tryna smother a brother just cause my salary 

And dog, I tell ya that these times' so sick 

That my sister's smoking dohja, 8 months pregnant 

My brother bubble on the grind and he's way legit 

Working on his third strike and he still won't quit 

But I can't tell him nuttin' bout a salary job 

So in order to get tha paper the boy gotta mob or sob 

All will fall to the waistside 

While the rollers overlook they wanna take lifes 

Youngstas they gettin' raised off the T.V. 

Got white kids around the country wanna be me 

And the way they point the finger ain't even shob 

Television replace religion, now the gangsta's god 

And old folks wonder why we so crazy 

90 knuckleheads and 70 high babies 

And can't nobody tell me that I'm wrong 

Uncle Sam finding ways to fit computer chips in my dome 

So I should ask before you slip 

See it's higher than the ultimate trip 

Chorus 

You know, dedicated to DJ Cee, S-Double the Mac 

Reach Ghetto Stardom