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remix
2pac - Baby Don't Cry (Keep Ya Head Up II), I Wonder If Heaven Got A Ghetto, Who Do U Believe In?
Verse 1 [2Pac]
Now here's a story bout a woman with dreams
So picture perfect at thirteen, an ebony queen
Beneath the surface it was more than just a crooked smile
Nobody knew about her secret so it took a while
I could see a tear fall slow down her black cheek
Sheddin quiet tears in the back seat; so when she asked me,
"What would you do if it was you?"
Couldn't answer such a horrible pain to live through
I tried to trade places in the tragedy
I couldn't picture three crazed niggaz grabbin me
For just a moment I was trapped in the pain, Lord come and take me
Four niggaz violated, they chased and they raped me
Even though it wasn't me, I could feel the grief
Thinkin with your brains blown that would make the pain go
No! You got to find a way to survive
cause they win when your soul dies
Baby please don't cry, you got to keep your head up
Even when the road is hard, never give up
Baby don't cry
Verse 2 [2Pac]
I was raised a little young nigga doin' bad shit
Talk much shit, cause I never had shit
I can remember bein' whooped in class
And if I didn't pass momma would whoop my ass
Was it my fault poppa didn't plan it out?
Broke out left me to be the man of the house.
I couldn't take it, had to make a profit
Found a block, got a glock, and I clocked grip
Makin G's was my mission
Movin enough of this shit to get my momma out the kitchen
And why must I sock a fella
Just to live large like Rockafella
First you didn't give a fuck, but you learnin now
If you don't respect our town, then will burn you down
Verse 3 [2Pac]
I see mothers in black cryin, brothers in packs dyin
Plus everybody's high, too doped up to ask why
Watchin our own downfall, witness the end
It's like we don't believe in God cause we livin in sin
I asked my homie on the block why he strapped, he laughed
Pointed his pistol as the cop car passed and blast
It's just another murder, nobody mourns no more
My tear drops gettin bigger but can't figure what I'm cryin for
Is it the miniature caskets, little babies
Victims of a stray, from drug dealers gone crazy
Maybe it's just the drugs, visions of how the block was
Crack came and it was strange how it rocked us
Perhaps the underlyin fact they hide explain genocide
It's when we ride on our own kind
10 май 2010
