Home Sweet Home Lyrics - Singles - Smif-n-wessun

(Tek) 

This is the story of a place, that we call home 

Where the kids pack heat when it's time to roam 

Everybody's on the scramble, life's a gamble 

Hoppin on the white horse, tryin to get a handle 

On the fast pace that we call the last race 

Step wit precaution when you enter this place 

We got a spot on every block that makes ya dreams come true 

Just come correct wit the snapses or ya doo 

Don't come cryin broke, still tryin to cop the dope 

What parts of no, do not you understand bro 

We can't afford to take shorts or be playing sports 

Empires need to be built, mack 10's bought 

Or even caught for them deceased ass hustlers 

And we still got the pound for ya living muthafuckas 

What goes around comes back to the roots 

See you at the revolution and Crooklyn, true 

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(Chorus) 

We live in Brooklyn baby 

We try to make it baby 

We gonna make it baby 

We live in Brooklyn baby 

(Steele) 

Another day, another dollar dead 

Pigs rushin the crib to catch a collar now I'm fed 

What the face now, me and my people's taste crown 

Stayin face down, while K-9's sniffs around 

What they found was irrelevant, the weed cuz 

They was sent to represent and cause a ruckus amongst us 

Now I got more pigs rushin we, handcuffin me 

Takin hold of we, in the custody 

For blushin in, rasta boy restin in peace 

After going through the bullshit, we in release 

To hit the streets, where the war still off for all of y'all 

Cuz they kept rule locked behind the wall 

No time at all, no fake, no jacks 

Perhaps when the gat spins, niggas won't even know what happen 

I'll be glad when my man come home 

Cuz in the zone muthafuckas grab ya chrome 

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(Chorus (with Tek shoutin out)) 

(Tek) 

The eye three time, as lead transpire 

Currency change, change from yours to mine 

Greenbacks talk bullshit, floats on water 

Pager goin off, call comin from headquarters 

I was told if the secret code appears 

It means some bwoy want dead, prepare for warfare 

(Steele) 

Fuck the truth, we bringin the noose for ya loose talk 

So think smart, or rest in parts if ya do start 

I fucks wit, the poor, so fuck being rich 

Word is bond, there's a muthafuckin war goin on 

Stand strong, on ya own two, mista 

Or come confront the grim ripper 

Black hoodie on, black dusty fatigues 

Bloody red afro, puffin on the black weed (on three) 

He lurks in the shadow, so when you sleep in the battle 

That'll be, and tell ya punk lib to tattle 

(Tek) 

Salute, to each and every hood label truth 

Doin what you gotta do to bring in the loot 

Huh, the time has come for armageddion 

Give nurture to your seeds, and load up ya guns, dunn 

Now catchin vibes, that somethin ain't right 

Gettin little hits, stomach fillin up tight 

Damn, these little nappy head cheap trait bastards 

Run around town wit the cronz trynna blast shit 

Ain't nuthin sweat like the dark streets of Bedstuy 

Creepin population, endin up in C.I. 

(Steele) 

Take a ride through the Flatbush side 

See the dred and he caught for support, hit me off wit the lye 

Now slide, through the ville, death row, say hello 

To the fam that stick to K.I.M. that's planned 

Toward the east, somethin's goin on 

So burn the buds, and all my people in Medina stay strong 

(Chorus to fade)