Can't Keep A Gee Down

Verse One:

I caught another case so the Loc needs bail

but your people act funny when you're sittin in a cell

I didn't get mail so jail was like hell

out of anger I shank 'em in the neck in the stairwell

I remember potacaine was used to rock up

It was a trip on how I got locked up

10 saltine crackers runnin at me with yellow coats

yellin "Don't move or catch a hot one to the throat"

you learn real fast to put your hands up quick, black

Yo, just put an 'out of order' sign on your bozack

I didn't twitch, scratch or itch

they found a nine in my inside pocket ain't that a bitch

A short and quick trip to the County straight drama

the first call I made was collect to my mama

I didn't go see her before I went to jail

but now I wanted her to come visit

send money orders and post bail

Till I remembered that I'm grown

So now I gotta handle it myself, fool

the Loc is on his own

Chorus:

The Loc is on His Own

Moms was trippin' she got a block on the phone

I can't call home, the Loc is on his own

Moms was trippin' she got a block on the phone

I can't call home, the Loc is on his own

Moms was trippin' she got a block on the phone

Verse Two:

Yea Moms I love you too

I understand that your tired of the bullshit I put you throw

I pleaded not guilty, G

with no intentions of going to trial, I got the plea

Now the cops got another young nigga off the streets

He's coming back to fish for some more meat

Puttin marked money on a hook to real us in

or sit in this little ass bucket called the Pen

and they'll give you a day when you'll be free

huh, but it ain't no garantee

because you might get the shovel

be the next one to find out is it a god in the devil

but it you can hold your own and mind your own

you live long,

take no shit and stay strong

some fake religon and play with churches

they put pretty boys with hard niggaz on purpose

I ain't heard from non of my peoples, homes

but that's ai-ight though

the Bullet Loc is on his own

Chorus

Polo T-shirt, now I'm creasing up my 501's

hoping they gonna give me some sun

No So-Glow

Pimp Daddy Afro

the Loc ain't about to shave

I'm comin like a mob in 9-4

comb in my left back pocket, it's time

try to get Parole in this long ass line

my big homie walked out with his head down low

I said yo, big boo, what the fuck they shoot you down for

my brotha wants to kill the pig

gave him a year because his arms are too big

it's fucked up in jail

if you're holdin a bowl with some change,

your goin back in your cell

they let me go, I grabbed my heaters

now I'm down with the niggaz in the shell-toe Adidas

and we going to make this money, all of it

not a little bit

I'm smokin on the Indo until I get illiterate

leave me alone, trick, I'm in a full zone

my money's on the microphone

The Loc is on his own

Chorus