Texty: Streetlife. Street Education. Let Them Come.

[Intro: Streetlife]
Yeah, yeah
Let them, let them, let them, let them, let them
Let them, let them, let them, let them, let them

[Streetlife]
Where I come from, we don't run when the cops come
We die with our guns, if you want something, take something
Shaolin, son, still bangin' those Warrior's Drum
I'm a Staten bum, with a hazardous tongue
I got grizzly, bear back niggaz rollin' with me
So hustlin' with Street, is real risky
Who wanna bang-bang? Do you really?
Son, I slap you silly, leave a quarter of your brain dizzy
I'm a Park Hill, hillbilly, packs a nine milli'
From New York City, bust your gun, but don't miss me
I'm liable, to run up in your wedding recital
Pump lead through the bottle, hit the preacher in the bible
My life is like a Green Mile, my thoughts is suicidal
Shorties likin' my style, aiyo, I'm not your idol
I'm a side effect, from a drug overdose
Pull out the black toast, you start catchin' the holy ghost

[Chorus: Streetlife]
Let them come, I said me ready for them, ahhhhhhh
Let them come, I said me ready for them, ahhhhhhh

[Streetlife]
I smoke MC's like sherm sticks
Hold a nina with a firm grip
For all y'all, don't know, best to learn quick
I bust my gun until it goes click, click
Feel me? I don't give a fuck who you roll with
You can go and get who you wanna get
I got an extra clip to put a mudhole in that bullshit
Come on, you can bring your whole click
Watch me pop 'em like hot grits, when the glock spit
I turn thugs to prophets, havin' you changin'
Your name, to Ahmed Mustafa, this is Killa Hill Projects
Nothing but convicts, and conflicts
Run up on your style, it can be on some old, run your garments
Let them come, I said me ready for them
I heard them bust them guns, y'all better bust them again
I roll with a gang of thieves, off of social disease
That won't, hesitate to squeeze, nigga please

[Chorus]

[Streetlife]
Street, walk with a limp, straight gorilla
Mood killer, shit on your picnic, very pestimistic
Mostly roll for delf, promote self
Everything else is everything else
Criminal minded, filled with hatred
Put down your guns, your ammo; don't waste it
I'm troublesome, pack a mack double one
Bring drama, that's what y'all niggaz don't need
Cause trauma, make a thug slow up his speed
I'm sick with it, foamin' from the mouth, watch me spit it
Watch the critics, be like, he got potential
I bust your snotbox, if you second guess the Street credentials
Stop the press and bitches, drop ya dresses
Warriors trapped through essense (let them come)
Come in peace, or, leave on stretchers
Gangstas, stick to your guns, or thump on the streets
Cuz I don't plan to run

[Chorus]

[Outro: Streetlife]
Bust them again...