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On Da Run (Craig Mack)

Eh yo, god bless the dead, ya know? And all my cats I know with the football jerseys on: dont have no regrets Hold them numbers Big up to the feds who tried to catch me in 88, nigga Ha! Funk Flav, Mr. Mack Eh yo, I cant face going to jail Cuz my life is bullshit, man, nigga fuck paying bail Shit is on the third rail On my tail is the feds, baby, Frank ?? for club med Niggaz wanna kill me, god Scared I might wrap these niggaz Entrap these niggaz If the feds wasnt watching I would clap these niggaz I mean put a bullet through the fuckin back of these niggaz Phone ringing off the hook, probably tapped my niggaz See the headlines now: "Mack found in 5 rivers" FDR, thinkin was it better when I didnt buy the car Didnt cop the bar, didnt buy my girl mother a new jaguar Shit, my moms got the Continental R with the backseat bar Talkin about "my sons a star" Little do she know I'm Caesar and world ??? Crack is dead, I'm sellin X instead Bitches in my bed will fill your ass with lead Keep givin me head 'til the tip turns red Sit back and watch me butter this bread On the run Best three words to describe my life, make the game my wife On the run Hustler, born and raised, in the streets where I spent my days (2x) I told my main chick, pack your bags, She ain't listen Chrome started whistling and turned her Christian Blew up the whole house using nitro-glycerin But the Expedition in the garage was missing Moved the nannies and the kids to a new position Intuition gave me suspicion Shit is murder, do I kill myself and fuck them niggaz' satisfaction Or demand action, pull out toast and start blasting Young niggaz asking, wise cats only give a fraction Streets is the young man's attraction I dug myself into a hole Into a world thats cold Pimps, players, bitches, ballers, hustlers, drugs, guns and thugs Million dollar homes, like Capone's, persian rugs Gentlemen with fake hugs, turn to slugs I'm a made man, paid man, show no love Clock's ticking, plot thicken, probably written in a book somewhere My fuckin life ain't fair See either way, i'ma make it off this earth without a trace So if I ever see the judge, i'ma spit in the bitch face On the run Best three words to describe my life, make the game my wife On the run Hustler, born and raised, in the streets where I spent my days Eh yo, faggots Nah i'm sayin, all you sweet cats, nahmean? Real gentleman dont need it Its strictly drive-thru window meals Enemies lurking every crack and crevice, eating rocks for breakfast No time for music, carry toast and use it See your house and uz' it Test your life and lose it You heard Gotti, shit is all fucked up His family didnt even wanna check him Disrespect and neglect him In a place to correct him Disconnect him and stretch him While the bull cop police protection Shit is question My suggestion in the game of deception Is to reign with aggression With the guns for collection The whores you undressing, keep 'em inside the best western You want a firm investment? Nigga, go have a kid, and let him eat your steak Dont make the same mistake Hope the kid is strong, when i'm gone You'll be like pop-duke was the man, but his life was wrong Gunned down off the top like Kong On the run Best three words to describe my life, make the game my wife On the run Hustler, born and raised, in the streets where I spent my days Mack! Hustler, born and raised