On My Grind Lyrics - Balls And My Word - Scarface

When I was in the sixth grade, these niggas was bitch made 

They was thinking science, I was thinking get paid 

I always kept a plan to get doe 

Like selling the same shit I use to steal from outta stop-n-go 

I use to run a paper route 

But that ain't pay me enough, I was still on the bus 

My momma would always tell me don't you rush to get old 

But rarely did I listen to the shit I was told 

I was a ghetto boy long before the rap group existed 

I use to take my lunch money and pitch it 

I stayed on suspension, I ain't fuckin' with school 

Truant officers be chasin' me, I'd give 'em the blues 

Hit the pipes off of Roomer just to pass the time 

Shoot the shit and walk to Shamrock, stole me a wine 

Get smashed and hit the bus stop when school let out 

Get off at tina house and bust that cot 

Walk up outta Ridgemont smelling like fish in my pocket 

Then back to the southside walking home from Watkins 

I stopped to see the homies off of Huckala street 

All you game in the front yard bumpin' this beat 

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Ever since I could remember I been on my grind, 

All the time 

Nothing but paper and pussy and the finer things on my mind 

I had to Shine 

By any means necessary I had to go out and get it 

And come back wit it, thug life I was wit it 

My balls and my word told a nigga that the world was mine 

That's why I stay on the grind 

I remember when the dope game started up, serving the hypes 

I was seeing more doe than I ever seen in my life 

I was rocking up eightballs and knowing the shake 

Kept a thousand in my pocket, twenty more in the safe 

I had my grandmother guessing how I got that shit 

'Cause every other day I had to buy new kicks 

Older cats steppin' to me as if I was the man 

Getting telephone calls from my uncle's friends 

I'm sixteen years old, with game so throwed 

I was parking niggas frontin' me and fucking they hoes 

Eventually I moved out, rented a house 

I'm stretching the dope, cuttin' seventeen from an ounce 

We cop ya pots fulla spray, I'm moving big weight 

But that was back in the days, nobody thought about a dope case 

It's all mapped out, get in get out 

They giving mutha fuckas ten years for each rock 

It's fucked ain't it, but I'm lookin' at the picture they done painted 

They hanging all these niggas who's careers was dope gamin' 

The crack epidemic had you locked if you was in it 

And even if you stepped out with bread you couldn't spend it 

In the beginning niggas had they whole hoods flooded 

Wit that Antonio Montana disease like "fuck it" 

And drug wars just another day in the life 

You fucked over me, I fucked you, done gave me the right 

Photos 

I'm up and down I-10, with a car full of hens 

Finta check my ends, finta get this Benz 

Stopped short of my drop spot by red lights flashing 

I'm dirty, and if he wants to search I'ma blast him 

I roll the windows down so I can show him my hands 

Wouldn't you know, the cop done pulled me over my man 

I got a brand new plan take this shit to the line 

Stop an Sony's and give it back I'll give you a dime 

With ten thousand you can go to work for a week 

Take some time off to think, I'll even throw in a key 

He stopped at the mo', I gave him the doe 

Checked in my room then whooped out the scale and the blow 

There's a knock at the door, I grabbed the four-four 

It was the homeboy who set me up down on the floor