The Ill Bunch Songtext
von Snowgoons

You have not seen the scenery
Don't know what it's like to be with me
See the heathens speak easily on easy street
Yeah, they living like they villains but our children need a meal
On the block clocking but that type of time will kill
(Yeah, tell em why you mad homie, tell em how you feel)
You bet you right, damn sure I will
When I got my deal, life was looking up
Now I could give a fuck cause them record labels steal
Still we struggle to live with my kid to my arms
I uplift the strong, the hood on my back, my missus on my lap
And still I react, dip and dodging the traps
Yes, rap was born where I'm from
God praised me as a son so I rep till I'm done

We roll on niggas like a bunch of I'll Greeks
With heats and keep these streets hot like we [? ]
We born together like some sheiks from the middle east
[? ] one nation yelling out fuck peace


Yo, late night bodega run, I ran into my little dun
Sitting there looking through the barrel of a devil's gun
He talking about a body that he caught and he on the run
Out of state trying to get that extra cake major fun
Who I am to tell him? I'm a felon
Just came home from packing a pack in the back and drug selling
Shortie rebelling, man he just like me
I remember when I was sixteen hugging the streets
I had the OG's trying to screw me, I walked away like fuck you
I'm nutso and flashed the toolie
Half my niggas doing life or smoking boulies
Shortie when you're looking at the mirror looking at me
But my advice to this little nigga, you gotta take flight
Relocate from the hood and start a new life

I'm sick of liars, sick of bitches and sick of friends
I'm sick of [? ], I'm sick of sitting here like get it in
I'm sick of fakers, law makers, and life takers
That just throw you away then go and eat pizza
Laugh about it, it's getting crowded up in the game
Too many bout it bout it but really ain't bout a thing
Too many make it rain in their songs but the thing
Is in real life you won't see them throwing a thing
[? ] rappers with bitch tendencies
Been through the seven seas, Jim Beam, Tennessee
You call it whiskey, me I call it risky
Police frisk me hitting me with the metal things
Like it's no rules, hit the ProTools
And burn it down with my peeps from the Snowgoons