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blood in blood out - awon & phoniks lyrics

[hook]
it’s blood in blood out
when you tote that iron for clout
when it’s feast in these streets of trouts
it’s blood in blood out
blood money on your hands, but still
the mighty bills tend to get us k!lled
my n-gg- sh-t’s so real

[verse 1]
now that i’m older with more understanding
see the beast in the mirror whether it’s feast or famine
i’m the same n-gg- that hollas “no choices!”
instead of working hard i decide to sell poison
and blame it on the man, but i’m part of the so-called plan
k!llin’ communities hand-to-hand
for new kicks, fresh whips, loose chicks, tooth clips
with a hammer on the hip, it’s the wild wild west
and no matter what i stay dope, mad fresh
all-white airs with some hermès sweats
blunt after blunt till my death
heaven around the corner
maybe a young’un with a tec
will come break the cycle of me livin’ trifle
the stash in the trash there’s an -ssault rifle
streets like a jungle, can’t survive if you humble
rather raw and be feared than to mumble and fumble

[verse 2]
as i sit in my apartment i think of the dearly departed
i lost in the streets broken hearted
regrets of the game
shouldn’ta introduced ’em to that b-tch named cane
she done bought many of my homies mad pain
not a std, just a bullet to the brain or cce
got a call late at night that my brother got shot
hopped in the whip even though the block’s hot
the sight of him in the rain dead in the streets
body covered up under a blood-stained sheet
looked his daughter in the eyes, she didn’t understand
she was just a baby still in her mother’s hands
and soon to be raised up by another man
who would never love her the way my little brother can
revenge in my heart but his blood on my hands
’cause i led him to the spot and showed him how to move grams

[verse 3]
sittin’ on my mother’s porch with my cousin
trippin’ out about the time we had when we was young’uns
thuggin’, wilin’ out for nothin’, living trife
i’m the dealer and he’s the user, and that his life
turned on to the deed by the brother of his wife
shootin’ to fight the sickness -ssociated with strife
“contracted hepat-tis”– “what?” – “the b-type”
wouldn’t let him hit the blunt, some time i even front
but this the same n-gg- used to get cash with
hit my first l, skippin’ cl-ss to get -ss with
now i’m ashamed of who he is and in my heart i was a kid
because when he overdosed on a bag i was in tears
just one more visit, one more conversation
one more goodbye before his final destination
it’s never hesitation, openly love people no matter the situation
seein’ what i been through in this occupation
of course it’s too high, imma need salvation hope the lord has patience

- awon phoniks lyrics

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