Nipsey Hussle — Crenshaw & Slauson (True Story)

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Текст Nipsey Hussle — Crenshaw & Slauson (True Story)

PART 1

Look, relate to you, I can’t if you’s a fake nigga
Where Level 4 in the state what your mistakes get you
Rap niggas, they just wanna double date with you
Twitpic and show these hoes that they affiliate with you
Labels used to treatin’ rappers like a slave, nigga
Starvin’ artist, «Just be happy with your fame, nigga»
Shit changed, now it’s such a different game
All the niggas like myself is controlling everything
If you, pay attention see exactly what I mean
Fuck the middleman, I said that in 2003
Was 18, White Lincoln, chrome feet
Black .40 was my pillow, every night I go to sleep
Grown niggas treat me like they OG
Holdin’ on to every word that the tiny loc speaks
I had a vision that nobody else could see
Sold my shit to D-Mac, a little less than 10 Gs
Brought my grocery bag of cash back to Blacc Sam
He matched a nigga, next day we went to Sam Ash
We bought a Pro Tools and a microphone
Studio was far from plush but them lights was on
Couple hunned thousand stashed at my mama’s home
Real estate in Atlanta, but ain’t nobody know
Mac 11s in the safe, hidden in the floor
My bro did it like nobody that I’ve ever known
Screens on every wall with 16 camera angles
Double pane bulletproof glass pushin’ past the haters
Cuban links and Rolexes, fold a check from Epic
This industry ain’t gotta like us but they gon’ respect it
Built the label up from money we was savin’ up
No details ’til the statute of limitations up
Couple niggas got flipped tryna play with us
The demonstrations speak loud so I ain’t sayin’ much
Was a charismatic nigga, I don’t play as much
‘Cause life is real when you live it in a place like us
School pictures crackin’ smiles, now my face is stuck
Shell shocked to see how much they really hated us
Couldn’t keep a kind heart, get yo’ hatred up
Streets smarts, nigga, get yo information up
Watching Belly, smokin blunts, take Jamaican puffs
One day I’ma have a house and car like Jamaican cuz
Credits roll, back to stress pound breakin’ up
Had to fight before we hustled, and it made us tough
Early ’90s, neighbor’s rooster used to wake us up
Mama had a bucket and a shack but we ain’t make a fuss
Blue Cutlass, no license, .380 tucked
’96 Caprice ‘Bolt Da Fatts’ was savin up
They gettin’ packed out if niggas try fade with us
Crenshaw and Slauson, True Story, Zo, play the drums
PART 2

I got to this paper, no industry favors
Speaking to they soul, so they tell me I’m they favorite
Been through it myself, yeah, I know how it make you
Never let ’em judge you cuz they ain’t you
I could tell a long story or just say I’m grateful
I could tell a gang of reasons or just say I’m faithful
I can sell a million records or just mixtape it
They don’t really give a fuck long as I just keep pacing
Quiet for a year, gave no explanation
Now I’m ’bout to drop, I got ’em on that Proud 2 Pay shit
Half of a million cash, he gon’ offer me a label
Told him that I need to own it, so I’m cool, kept it gangster
Holla back, real niggas what you calling that
You see the game fucked up, look, what part is that
They compare where I’m at to where I started at
They put me in the Getty, I’m a artifact

They can’t never hang me on the wall, though
We presidents, nigga, we push buttons
The rest of y’all just react
Victory Lap, nigga, this Marathon
Still don’t stop though

Count me up, count me up
I’m in this shit, you niggas is out as fuck
I’m used to people doubting I’d amount to much
I thrive off the challenge, I’m a childish fuck
I love toys so I’m by the buck
I hate to lose so I play too rough
I speak my mind and say I say too much
Minus the hip-hop, cops say I don’t say enough
I know they listening to my raps
While I’m out running these laps
Tryna make my paper stack
It’s like this and like that
I think I’m KRS
I think I’m dead prez
I think I’m 2Pac, nigga, I need some fuckin’ meds
I think I’m Eminem, I’m going crazy
Shoot in front of the shop, Nas & AZ
I never planned to make it to a old nigga
Plant the bag, 560 off a zone, nigga
Dip my Giovanni feet in chrome nigga
Drop them bitches on Pirellis, hit the road with ’em
I should get the cover of the Rolling Stone, nigga
I should perform at the Old Republic or Rome, nigga
I’m not a rapper or a poet, I’m a poem, nigga
Ain’t it amazing how I’m standing on my own, nigga?
Always pull up in foreign that’s never loaned, nigga
Always speaking my music straight from my soul, nigga
My business partners Jewish but I’m all nigga
Still ghetto that ain’t wrong is it?
Way I see it long as I ball, nigga
I’m a California don, nigga
Hundred thousand on my car, nigga
You know very well who you are, nigga

PART 3

I been that nigga before the fame happened
That tell them hoes go get my name tatted
I rock a Roley ’cause my game classic
And repped L.A. before it came back in
I know y’all see me in my lane smashin’
I know y’all hate me with a strange passion
I made examples out y’all lame asses
I love my life, y’all could hate that shit
All the smart money got they bets on me
And all them real niggas wish the best for me
All these bad bitches got some sex for me
Shout out them bad bitches getting dressed for me
They down to stand in line ’cause it’s well worth it
Pull up to my shows in Chanel purses
They jeans fit the worst but they smell perfect
Never argue with they niggas but they yell verses
Ay, I’m true to this game
Gimme that pussy ‘fore she tell me her name
Ay, I’m true to this game
All Money In No Money Out on my chain
Ay, I’m true to this game
No guarantees, you gotta live for today
Ay, I’m true to this game
Do it big ’til they remember your name
Hustle

[Break]

Ay, I’m true to this game
Gimme that pussy ‘fore she tell me her name
Ay, I’m true to this game
All Money In No Money Out on my chain
Ay, I’m true to this game
No guarantees, you gotta live for today
Ay, I’m true to this game
Do it big ’til they remember your name
Hustle

We still them same niggas that we used to be
Blacc Sam in that sedan in the coupe is me
Hundred thousand for the car so the roof was free
While I’m in it flashback on how it used to be
Wildin’, nigga, can’t relax, it was the youth of me
That make a smoker buy the bullets for a shooting spree
Found myself, same time family losing me
But all that violence from the past is what produced a G
All the real L.A. niggas know the truth is me
No hotline, homie, I could tell your future free
Get on your Marathon ’til you bruise ya feet
Or run the streets ’til the reverend write ya eulogy
Fishbowl in the six with all my jewelry
‘Cause I heard my haters is supposed to be shooting me
I’ll never let a broke bitch influence me
Slauson Ave, getting money and the proof is me

[Outro: Suge Knight & Jay-Z]
‘Cause I tell everybody all the time
Own your masters, own your catalog
Can’t none of these niggas say they own their masters and their catalog
If they do, they’re lying to you
Or they gon’ say own some of it or they gon’ buy it back
All that is bullshit
Just had to get our little thing together
We picked up distribution
Now we’re strong, now we’re legit, naw’mean
And we’re a force to be reckoned with right now, word up