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fight or flight (dj clyde 3 beat blend) - dj clyde & dj critical hype lyrics

[verse 1: lil herb]
my momma used to say, “never quit, baby that just don’t exist!”
and just cause she’ll suck ya d-ck, don’t mean you could trust the b-tch!
i’m just giving you the real
cause i don’t come from hollywood or beverly hills
i’m from where mothers don’t care and babies get k!lled
where you gotta rob and go steal for stomachs to fill
and it’s hard for a young, black n-gg- like myself
where the police compare oneself with everybody else
so that means if you yourself they think you’re everybody else
so i don’t care ’bout no one else
just my family and myself
yeah, that’s just my way of thinkin’
in my city and it helps cause no one gives a f-ck
about me, you, or n-body else
and it’s cool
i’m still livin’ over east
we still chillin’, sippin’ lean
smokin’ swishas, stackin’ hunnits to the ceilin’
we still winnin’
we just fightin’ to survive
it’s a shame i gotta ride with this nina on my side
they used to say…

[verse 2: common]
rings and watches, kings deposites
chains that seemed preposterous
gettin’ paper never seemed monotonous
time is money, the streets is watchin’ like a scene from clockers
fiends is nauseous, chicken wings they gossip
n-gg-s wings is tied up in dreams and product
the block gets hotter when the streets is dried up
we react like shottas when n-gg-s is fired up
on some james brown sh-t, i’mma take you higher
to stay live n-gg-s still livin’ like the wire
a tight rope so they steppin’ on that white dope
i ride with my n-gg-s cause that’s the cycle
suppliers, buyers, leaning like they biased
this is circus, n-gg-s and broads wearin’ wires
the eye of the tiger in my iris
eyes on the prize, i’m a fighter

[verse 3: chance the rapper]
me and my pops shared the same home phone number
called us “single parent home”, sorry, wrong number
i did my push ups, and my homework, and my house work
and my dirt, talk back until my mouth hurt
daddy furious, trey hopped in the car though, close the car door
wonderin’ why our father god couldn’t spare rod for
spoiler alert, trey get out the car and walk home with his heart broke
my poppa love me, ops left me
stains fed me, and they dressed me
come home freshly dressed and he addressed me
and he pressed me
called me a thief, called me a boy, called me a coward
at least he ain’t call me from county with an hour worth of advice from my 5 day
why doughboy couldn’t have the same pops that he had on friday?
i’d rather be a real man than a real n-gg-, real talk

- dj clyde dj critical hype lyrics

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