[Intro: Papoose]
Ye straight out of Brooklyn
Cool and Dre On the track
Papoose

[Verse 1: Papoose]
I’m from the stars son
Concrete full of cracks and dry gum
The whole reasonable doubt BIG Ready to Die slum
Dyslexic ADHD mentally blind dumb
Bipolar of education we was deprived young
Kids wear Jordans before they could fit in size one
Timberland boots with the trees from which we got hung
I got bad nerves always twiddling by thumbs
Feet tapping the floor like I’m playing a live drum
People that I trusted crossed me them guys done
The stab in the back was paralyzing
I’m numb
Nobody believe in life insurance where I’m from
Everybody gotta chip in when someone dies son
Say you got that drip what happens when it dries son?
Brand new outfit and empty pockets fly bums
I influenced most of these rappers to really rhyme son
Set a great example I gave you power like Nas done
Who should I sign with? Adam, but just remind them
You signing the beef like Fat Joe when he signed Pun
[Hook: Papoose]
To all the killas and the hundred dolla billas
The real n***a who ain't got no feelings
To all the killas and the hundred dolla billas
The real n***as who ain't got no feelings

[Verse 2: Papoose]
I rap with ease with writing all I need is a bag of weed
Pack of C’s a few daiquiris watch what happened G’s
Walking out the booth like George Jefferson ask Louise
The hip hop alumni graduated with rap degrees
If you went to church with my grandmother you had to sing
Or she gonna hit you upside the head with the tambourine
I eat kosher food and got cooked by your lavish queen
You suffer constipation eating products from Dairy Queen
Hollow points at dumb dumbs loaded inside in the magazine
Your wig is easy to peel it’s like a tangerine
Militant as a Arabic refugee from Palestine
With money and ammunition that they got from the Japanese
No limit to my soldiers like Master P did black marines
My philosophy is of Dr. King when he had a dream
Lyrical locomotive better stop me I’m catching steam
Tried to jump me but they ain’t know I had the thing
You n***as couldn’t jump me with Kriss Kross and some backwards jeans
A game a checkers two pogo sticks and a trampoline
[Hook: Papoose]
To all the killas and the hundred dolla billas
The real n***a who ain't got no feelings
To all the killas and the hundred dolla billas
The real n***as who ain't got no feelings