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(AZ) Baby bring that ashtray in hereAiight(AZ) And bring my mail it's on top of the counterHere baby(AZ) Check, what's thisI don't know some mail came through today(AZ) Fishscale, Professional, what's this about menlemme see what this aboutAnyway, the food will be ready in 20 minutesPeace Allah, hope tha scribe reach ya hands in good healthAs for self, no sense of worrying my cards been dealtSunk in a cell, fishscale, fifth year of my bidFinally got a chance recent to connect with my kidsSongtexteIt's kinda hard through carelessness I scared they momsAnd temporary I was barred voluntary the bondNevertheless, it's issues I need to addressPertaining the certain statements that made me confessFaced with life, it bites when reality hitAnd wit crime come a lot of technicality shitthrough many co-defendants conspiracies linkingLike the court system designed to keep the mind from thinkingFog ya vision, guess it's just the odds of livingBut like me, most great men became god in prisonSince Illmatic, first heard ya bars of lifeI was up in Cansaki, *****s started to fightYou touched souls to a lost population of menAnd no doubt, if ever out they'll never lock me againFaced wit 10 on state time, wit life on the backIt's fucked up when your own folks ain't writing you backLearn to relax, spoke wit certain cats that helped adaptYou know the streets to the pen it's kinda hard to transactAll the cars and the pretty women, condos,The clothes and the city livingI seen division, breakdown of the populationIt's either submit, death or incarceration I felt the combinationTorn between reality rap and the fakesSome do it for the salary cap few relateAnd been through what I been through at least in fractionSo when they spit you could feel the passion I see you maxin'That Nas and that Jigga riff started some shitIt departed the prison system we should argue a bitIt's a glimpse of what's to comeThe past follow, hold the voice just hunger me holdin' my last bottleI live like that of a star without the title, I had to write youIt's beyond trying to enlight youIt's a token of appreciation for being that poet with no abbreviationsMuch respect from us all wish you much successGet yours take money nigga fuck the rest I'm signing offAnd leave in the way that I greet and say peaceKeep in mind always rep the streets, you that nigga.Word,........... Gotta write homey back(AZ) Ayo, boo I got any more of that mail out thereGot a few more(AZ) You gotta read this one, the shit right here is deep, manAlright, gimme a minute(AZ) Okay, What's this one right hereoh shortie from Nashville, alright lemme see thisAZ, this is Camille since Sugarhill been a fanAnd since then to me you still a manA real card player rarely reveals his handAnd sincerely, I could say the hood feel ya jamI sit and listen to your last editionWashing dishes in the kitchenOr twisting the baby dreads on little ChristianIt's so sickening his father we both miss himHe was killed in a '99 car collisionI guess the best ones God get them the tar sniff 'emIt's just the way it is in this bizarre systemYou remind me of his one concerning words when you speakYou and him both got that funny type of slur in y'all speechAt night it's like his face just emerge in my sleepI smoke herb so that grief can stop disturbing my peaceMy life's deep, it coincide with the way that you rapI hate it when them commentators say that you backYou never left you was always years ahead of the restMy baby-father even felt your style he say you was bestHow you dress how you move when you in the publicWithout a lot of luggage gotta love it that's how you thug it...Know that, that's right, it's bigboy, okay, okay
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"Fan Mail" as written by Leonard/mc Faddin Caston
Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing
Lyrics powerd by LyricFind
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