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Chorus:
This little gangsta went to spark it
This little gangsta got blown
This little gangsta had mad beef
This little gangsta got a gun
These little gangsta went ‘bang bang bang’
Bleeding all the way home
Phonetix:
I’m not gangsta, and I don’t wanna be or need to be
I spit rhymes both consciously and spiritually
I’m Teddy Gristle man, you won’t see a change in me
On stage or on route what you get is what you see
I’m sick of hearing it sick seeing it sick of people feeling it
Sick of young 'uns looking up to it
I’m sick of dealing with it sick, of people associating me with it
When all I stand for wants to expose and battle it
Yeah I know some of them rappers have got sick flows
And sick shows, sick rims on benzos and six figure bling clothes
Sick beats and sick ho’s in videos cause sick minds and cash money inflate egos
I’ll destroy it with my mic contradict it with my life
Stay true to what’s real if I die in the fight
Spit truth to peeps, ballers and G’s, cause sick crews rule everything around me S.C.R.E.A.M
Chorus
Mr Prince
Open your eyes and you’ll find
Deep inside these a side
That’s designed to reflect the divine
Eject inspect and you’ll find
That the truth of these rhymes
Are designed to infect and incline
Let me tell you what you’ll hear about me
I don’t hustle on the grind like a P.I.M.P
Don’t creep like TLC catching HIV
If you’re looking for a soldier then don’t call me
I’m sold out for making music for change
Not cash money but the kinda change won’t leave you the same
The kinda change that will keep kids from grabbing the nine
Joining the life of villain in the pen serving up time
I’m writing rhymes for all those cats on road
Claiming “street life’s” the only life they know
On the hustle trying to make up the doe
But what good is it to gain the whole world if you loose your soul
