Deep Down

[Brotha Lynch]
 Yeah I could load a 9 up everyday, but why
 My locc's told me homie make them tapes
 And keep that 24 block alive
 But if I feel I'm in need, I got's to ride
 Carry a 9 for straight business, not just a side
 Man it's the night-mare, creepin up in the cut
 I'm hittin dice games, barbeques, no matter what
 The things I've seen'll make ya throw up
 Flaunt your flag, shoot your gats, hit your dank
 Where I'm from that's how ya grow up
 Man it's that wicked and 9 millimeter
 Carrier bein stereo-typed daily
 Ya got's to feel me, foo it's that baby
 Killas run around everyday that's why I'm strapped
 Ya heard it I got my own back-fade
 Out into the 'lac and hit the city of Sac
 Them homies given me that
 But you got them fools that want a foe then
 They wonderin why I'm carryin me a 12 gauge pump
 Man I ain't no punk
 The average everyday thug that's how it sounds
 I'm defendin myself, and loadin that mili
 And leaving em layin
 [Chorus] X 4
 Deep down, there's a place for hope
 [Mr. Doctor]
 I guess it's hard to explain why I'm feelin how I'm feelin
 I guess I'm feelin sorrow cus my homies got some stealin
 And foos would say that it's my fault I bet
 See cus I wasn't strapped yo, but I can't f**k my set
 How could I know that them foos would blast?
 Later on, on my folks
 It's funny how this bangin's got its different strokes
 I think about my loccs and how they made it
 Though I'm stressin from the fact
 They gotta suffer from a bullet hole
 And Mr. Doctor just don't have hope locc
 It's only been a month, since my last down partner got smoked
 And rivals is deep, up in my city foo
 Since I'm on the underground team, I can't have no peace
 My life is tore up so I guess I'm stuck
 Yeah, I got my St. Ides, I'm turnin it up
 To get drunk, then I post up on the street
 While I say to myself, for the block
 Homie rest in peace
 [Chorus] X 4
 [Brotha Lynch]
 They say that ain't the way to handle that type funk
 But now I'm loadin up the strap, smokin on that blunt
 Just cus the Brotha Hung is flag-up
 What that mean, I can't ride?
 Why G's up in my face, I'm bout to help them ride
 I keep a low pro, drink the 4-0
 And lounge until it's time to go
 Shinin up the forty-fo
 Rollin up the boogey-boo, indo
 And hopin if I should die, before I'm high
 That they bury me in 50 pounds of chocolate thai
 I got them homies from the south-side givin it up and
 Them homies from the east-side slangin that stuff and
 I'm right up in the middle tryin to hang on and
 Tryin not to end up like them niggas doin time in the pen
 But then again
 I'm down for when the homies is ready to roll em up
 You know, stick in a dark-blue cut
 And as I'm creepin through ya set
 Trip, don't get caught up, shot up
 The gardenblock locc's, man we leave em layin
 [Chorus] X 4