Gangsta’ Style (for Tupac)
Back in the day of crack fiends, black queens,
and prettyass Mercedes ride machines...
He was a playah a brother a fuckin mother
He was a young soulpartymastah makin, fightin
all in heavy calibers of music rappin...
He lived and died by a 9mm cap like his fine rap
Sure you tried to jail him, dis him,
but you never could dismiss him...
With secret hand signals he spoke his rhyme
Never jonesin but fightin back, with a knack,
with words always like gunfire on the attack...
Talkin trash nonstop to the cops put his records on top
Which moved even pure caucasians, on occasion,
to get down in hiphop animation...
Wearin that littleass goatee and crass scowl
Your view of life, one of constant strife,
expressions and images carved with a cutting knife...
Bodybags full of revolutionary spirit can you hear it
WuTang and Dr. Dre, by degree, poor facsimiles
of the riots you created all on CD...
So when you axsked him to hide y’shouldah jes stepped aside
On those streets you cruised dead set,
composing epithets, wonderin who would take the final bullet...
You had your people, your dogs, your crew strutting down that avenue
In a code created by you shots ringout, all about,
drive by shootings of words throughout...
In darker prisons of shadow where hommies waited for DR to show
How they could abuse you, how they would finally shoot you,
but we ain’t ever gonna lose you...
And yeah they threw down on you, killed you, chilled you
We know you played hard, you played fast,
tattooed to a body that wouldn’t last...
Gettin tingly with his words you still adore him abhor him
And it’s elementary as the penitentiary,
nothin to it but to do it
cuz this verse and episodes never ended.
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