Testo The lord is testin' me Tru

The lord is testin' me

I think the lord is testin me
Whatzup yall, hello world, this c-murder
Im bout to put you in the mind of a crazy
Fucked up in the head muthafucka (this nigga sick)
You know what Im sayin?
One of the muthafuckas you see in the
News everyday, for doin all types of crazy shit

Chorus: master p

Sometimes, I think the lord is testin me
But Im a tru nigga
I cant let none of these niggaz
And bitches get the best of me
(repeat 4x)

[c-murder]

Muthafuckas just dont understand the shit that I be goin through
I wanna kill myself, but I know, I gots to stay tru
Be gettin my fuckin hustle on, and stack my fuckin dividends
Cuz if I aint got no money and Im broke, fuck friends
I feel like, Im paralyzed cuz my own baby, wont hug me
My momma, wont let me in the house cuz she talkin bout
She scared of me
The only reason I sell drugs is survive
The only reason I kill, is to stay alive
Im constantly watchin my back cuz playa haters act like hoes
But they dont wanna fuck with me cuz I turn bustas into john does
Im not a role model so keep your kids up out my face
Talkin bout, Im sellin drugs aint doin nothin
But killin, my own race
Police cant catch me, betta kill me, aint gon let em arrest me
They dont, understand I draw my nine faster than jesse
Ive been know to have a temper, and I click quick, like this
Befo I was crazy, but now Im strapped and Im sick
187 killin murders a hobby
Thank god, this be the charge, six counts armed robbery
Back in the free world same shit, (aint gon change)
Call v, say he got weed, but fuck, I need clothes man
Damn, shoud I get that ski mask g?
Should I rob him, try to get a job?
Damn, the mans testin me

Chorus x2

[silkk]

I keep visualizin jail cells, and closed caskets
Put a credit to the grave he blastin
Fill my coffin laughin, chewin tobaco
Im just a gangsta livin day to day, tryna survive
Try to stay high to realize why my homies out there die
Now why you keep on testin me, sendin these cops to arrest me
Put me in bad situations, but I wont let life, get the best of me
I was born in a fucked situation, but Im not a born killa
But Ive seen some shit in my time, that escaped a grown nigga
Wonder if, its a test, see how much I could hold up on my shoulder
T-r-u cross my stomach, on my back, a fuckin soldier
It just dont seem right, it just dont seem right
The shit a nigga go through, makin me wanna scream like mike
It stresses me, its only after this
I wants to know, if its a in if I kill a nigga, over self-defense
Most of my people dont like me
And a lot of em cant stand me
But I wonder if its a sin if I kill and rob to feed my fuckin family
Its suvival of the fittest, you be my witness
I dont give a fuck about the money
Cuz I cant take none of that shit with me
If its a test, then let me know
But if its my time to go then let me go. amen

Chorus x2

[master p]

My record went gold, my family started money trippin
I could look into the eyes of a nigga that wants to catch me slippin
Somebody hollered dont go out like tupac!
That be the same nigga tryin to fill me up, with buckshots
The game get dirty thats why Im blastin
Its plenty niggas out there wanna see the p, in a casket
Thats why they spread rumors, lies, I died
Niggas dont wanna see another nigga get a piece, fo the fuckin pie
My friends trippin cuz I got ends
Niggas dont wanna see a black nigga rolin, in a fuckin benz
My old lady say Im stuck up
I got to sleep with one eye open, this whole world is fucked up
Got me poppin dono
Ask bo but he dont know what p know about the ghetto
You aint got no dollars, you got no friends
If I go to jail how many yall niggas gon visit me in the pen
But if I die it be a million niggas at my funeral
They wanna see me knocked out like tyson, did bruno
If I wear red or a blue, then Im a gang banga
If I make gangsta rhymes, huh, then Im a dope slanga
Every nigga I used to know that didnt make it
Think I owe em somethin
Every nigga I know in the ghetto, huh
Ask me to front em somethin
My own company, niggas, want me to sign them up
They dont think I could work for this shit
And how hard it take to come up
They too busy, throwin tesses (tests)
Got me strapped with pistols wearin bullet proof vesses (vests)
Every hoe I fuck, hope the rubber pop
The media spread rumors I smoke too much weed,
I guess they wanna see me smokin rocks.
Heh, I think the lord is testin me
Either this a bad dream or my fuckin mind messin with me