Letra Humble beginnings Ransom.

Humble beginnings

For the dumb, deaf and blind, come and touch braille
Here's a little motivation for your rough trails
Enough tales 'bout them drug sales
I'm from the school of hard knocks, nigga, fuck Yale
Wipe the prints, then I'm out, nigga, fuck jail
Cause I'll be here to hold 'em down when your bluff fails
Rack of lamb, rosemary and some cut kale
Way to blow on a jet, now we upscale
I'm bound to win, cause those who counting on me is now counting me out
But if we counting the money, my nigga, then count me in
Know your worth, we all can't be the sun of the earth
A hard pill to swallow, and all you want is the perks
Here it is, life imitating art
We used to watch Scarface, now we play the parts
Say hello to the bad guy
Mr Miyagi with them sticks if he act fly
I'm that live, two K's get 'em baptized
Cause black lives only matter when the cash high, is that right?
This a masterpiece
There's No Limit 'til there's nothin left in the tank
That's word to Master P
You shouldn't clash with me
Cause no spirit don't respect the death in your ranks
Them niggas half asleep, yeah
I'm half poet, half preacher
A street chemist with a glass beaker, I'm that ether, huh
Usain Bolt with a fast sneaker
Dr. Dre with his last speaker, the black reaper, ahh
I praise God cause I plays hard
They use gimmicks in they music to enslave y'all
I don't put my faith in nothin I can't pray for
The richest place on this planet is the graveyard
I hope these fakes understand that I'm the savior
And if you slaves understand it take your chains off, yeah

This is simply the intro, my nigga
I'ma switch B's and tempo, my nigga
I'ma flip G's like Creflo, my hitter
I'ma grip, squeeze and let go the trigger
Like bla-ow.. like bla-ow..
Like bla-ow.. like bla-ow..

I'm a hero to the real, a villain to a fake coward
Never a time that you would take ours
This real life man, this ain't Power
No Ghost story, there's no glory
It's so gory, you would swear Stephen King wrote for me
I'm Forest Whitaker, I'm Ghost Doggie
I'm O-Dog with his broke 40
I'm George Jung spillin coke on me
I'm so street that you won't cross me, so don't force me, nah
Don't wanna hear about that TEC's you squeeze, or
Makin money is your speciality, or
Your side bitches or that ex you leave
I know The Score, I got stripes I could ref you G's, huh
Black hoodies, black SUVs
Play the game or cut throats if it's necks you need, huh
The shit too fun, I grip, you run
I'm Shining, the black Nicholson, that's real game for ya

This is simply the intro, my nigga
I'ma switch B's and tempo, my nigga
I'ma flip G's like Creflo, my hitter
I'ma grip, squeeze and let go the trigger
Like bla-ow.. like bla-ow..
Like bla-ow.. like bla-ow..

[Marcus Samuels harmonizing until fade]