It aint but two roads that you can take
When you doing dirt to get the money that you make
I aint going to knock you, for tryin to get your mail
But all the true gangstas is dead or in jail
See boy, you'za fool, 15 years old
Thinkin you gonna stack you up and killa bank roll
You used to have to scrape, now your krib is straight layed out
Started sellin dope cuz them Ku Klux done played out
The home boys told ya but ya didn't learn a thing
An OG, even took ya up under his wing
He said "the dope game is like a basketball team
Everybody gotta role, we can't all be a king"
Got some king pins, you got the little g's
Some people sell rocks, while others move keys
You work your way up, and now you makin all the bread
But you might meet the feds or some bullets to your head
cuz it aint but two roads
The game is sweet, but sometimes it's sour
High cappers getting bumped off by the hour
You take the high road, you take the low
You'll end up dead, but you'll be on death row
I gotta friend who started strugglin, hit some hard times
Never been the type to indulge in petty crimes
Anywayz I saw him, most likely you can find me
I graduated 1989 he came behind me
But when he graduated, he started getting nervous
Mama said "you gots to get a job or join the service"
He thought to himself, "should I push up on KFC
Or join the army, and be all I can never be"
Then he remembered that his partna said "holla
At me anytime you wanna make a quick dollar"
He kicked my boy down with a small lick to start with
Said that he would stop when he moved in his apartment
And get himself a ride, but yo, something happened
He started makin bank, putting freaks, and high cappin
He got to acting shife and people's dope he started taking
Now he's in the grave cuz he crossed that Jamaican
The game is sweet, but sometimes it's sour
High cappers getting bumped off by the hour
You take the high road, you take the low
You'll end up dead, but you'll be on death row
I aint but two roads, that you can take
One is the jail house, the others the grave
What ever happened to the days, when a brotha used to scrap, with hands
And when it's over, gave eachother dap
Aint no such thang as a one on one right?
A one on one is now a gun on gun fight
Ya had to get your strap, and blast 'em in the chest maan
Because your pride couldn't except, the fact, that he had the best hands
Now what's up with that? How we gonna stand?
Killin a man over a women, killin a women cuz she took your man
It's not that, it's some dope that'swhere our mind at
Time is runnin out, so really the bottom like is
Smokers gon' smoke, gangstas gon' shoot
But you can't kill a tree by cuttin the branch, you gotz to get the root
And that be the media on TV, tryna blame the blacks for all the problems
that they see
Yo, the politicians you know we can't trust
Cuz guess who they makin all them new laws up for
Yeah, I see you blind but you can see
I'ma tell you, just like L.V. told me
You got to cherish your old folks and kids too
Cuz you can teach the kids and old folks can teach you about the roads
The game is sweet, but sometimes it's sour
High cappers getting bumped off by the hour
You take the high road, you take the low
You'll end up dead, but you'll be on death row
I aint but two roads, that you can take
One is the jail house, the others the grave
No I don't wanna see my people dying
No I don't wanna see you crying
Things are gonna get better
We need put ourself together, yea