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Gospel Gangstas - Why can't the homiez hear me
(from the album Do or Die)

My dog has caught the blues
It was just last Friday they told me about the news
I swings my feet out my bed into my house shoes,
its Saturday morning no yawning strictly mourning.
I dos my highs, jeans on,
my dickies I hear a horn and its my homey Chill,
to scoop me up in the plush regal,
to take me to the mall to pick up my black tuxedo,
no words straight face todays no joke
stop at the liquor store in the 4 to buy me a pair of locs.
I wiped my tears up until my face was all cleard up
we stops at the house to get geared up
across the bed I laid, prayed grieved within.
I cried again at the thought my homey died in sin
trying to claim the hood straight putting work
getting played like spades and it makes my heart hurt
cuz my homiez wont change
and to make matters worse
every other month I'm visiting the pen or following a herse,
escorted to a funeral gang stereotype
cadillacs and folds roll in to a burial site.
Some of we try not to cry,
but my eyes gives my face a shower,
I looks to God to give me strength and power
as I drops the flowers on the casket,
as I pass it by and wonders why,
and tell how many more homiez got to die before they realize
that life is quicker than the eyes
in framing your rep by claiming your set will only lead
to lost lives but oh Mr. Solo knows another
and out of respect they sit and listen to every word they big homey Solo got to say,
and when I speak I speaks clearly
but as I walk away the hits me up in the hood

One more time in your mind its gangsta Ch(z)ill rolling through your
hood in the drop top caddy coupe devi(g)lle the homiez at the dope spot
trying to clock deals packing hot steal and just like milk they top
bills. Straight serving all the young gangstas on the curve and got
that cain and urban even got that sherman drinking that burban but they
dont know the po-po got a videotape of their faces and they catching
cases and the judge is stretching them out like they plastic Im seeing
my homiez going to the pen, catching years is drastic, locked up with
unaccomplished dreams and unfullfilled purpose, going to hell cuz they
wanted to sell now was it worth I know all about survival, Im a ghetto
man but let me tell you whats cracking on the devils plan. Satan came
to kill, destroy and jack (what Jesus do?) but Jesus came to give you
live on b(z)ack but still you sell dope to the folk in your community
its time to sit down and have a long talk loc just you and me I break him off the to
God and it hurts me dearly to see my homiez hustling, get popped by the
cops, why caint the homiez hear me ?

(uh) My homiez be hitting me up like Im the same Solo
but no I'm changed, and no I dont bang no more
dont even trip with me cuz Solo dont owe none of you
I know what abe was talking about, my hood was taking me under too.
Had to go for self
had to get me some help
so now I can help someone else.
I found the truth to pull my homiez up of the devils shelf.
I see what you see do you see what I see I go to the
neighbour hood the wall is filled with R.I.P.S

I see OGs I looked up to cuz they was locced out

I comes to the hood to find my big homiez is smoked out.
I tell them the blood of Christ is able to change your life
they wouldnt listen and they overdosing every night
and my homegirls no I caint forget about em,
I told them the brother was a hustler you can do without him,
but still she keeps bringing him home
now she's pregnant alone and now he's gone.
Lord please draw near me
so my homiez can hear me.