A lot of my Eastside partners are dyin' fast

And it ain't for natural causes fool they catchin' a blast

Tim Yogi Bruce and James

pick up the newspaper fool and it's all familiar names

Brothas i grew up with and do up with

Partners killin' partners man that's the cold shit

Gots me spooked to hang with the fellas

Cause you never know when the nextman's gettin' jealous

Cause I've seen some cold shit:

Brothas gettin' killed over the words of a bitch

Now tell me what that be like, player

But in the Oaktown ain't no rules, nigga

Everything's fair, hah!

And the main fact is a bullet

He's got his finger on the trigga

And he'll damn sure pull it

This defines ghetto mentality, right?

But it all so got a player runnin' for his life...

I walked to my homie's funeral last week

Tears rolled down his mama's cheek

And it made me think:

I never tripped when i was gunnin' and funnin'

But the things i did in past got me duckin', dodgin, runnin'

And it ain't that i'm scared but if a fool starts to blastin'

It ain't like I'm gonna stand there

See, moms allready lost my brotha

So I keeps my vest on when I roam in the gutter

But we droppin' like flies

What's goin' on the Eastside can't be denied

Remember when we used to box?

But nowadays we grabbin' A.K.'s

And be bringin' down the whole block

And little kids gettin' gaught up in the crossfire

Before he reaches a teens he's expired

12 years old and it's a damn shame

Layin' in the middle of the nearest lane, hah!

And it brings tears to my eyes, damn!

We got'em runnin' for their lifes..