Text: Buddha Monk. Zu Chronicles Vol2: Like Father, Like Son. Ghetto Man.

[Intro: Prodigal Sunn]
Ye-yeah, ye-yeah, yeah
Do or die, son, Bed-stuy, do or die, baby
Brooklyn Zu, S.O.M., Two On Da Road, baby
Sunzini the Great, we represent
Buddha Monk, what?
Out the trunk, what?
Y'all niggas know, what?
For these blocks, for these projects
For the hood, yo...

[Prodigal Sunn:]
For the love of my peeps I stand solid on my own two feet
Roam in these streets, had to use the chrome to eat
Now it's microphone dramatical beats, poems unique
Activate stones from my dome, condone, Q.A.E.
A young shiek, with the bite of a wolf, it's live or die
Some choose to lie, post high, caught up in the Devil supplies
Snakes all around me, so I mix the broc' around me
And order cops in the county of Kings
Since a teen, strive to be supreme
As I cope on the block with fiends, kept me clean
Many step with the dreams to win
Swindle wives, teams and men hatin' for the love of sin
The last words from my grand old Dad
"Young lad, be a man, son, be the very best you can"
It's hard times in these ghettos we roam, lay in my zone
Heavily guarded like the King in chess, I stay blessed

[Chorus: Buddha Monk - singing]
I'm just a ghetto man, tryin' to do the best I can
Livin' in a world of jealousy, tryin' to find a way to feed my seeds
This world is so cold, I've seen young Gods that deliver a pot of gold
It won't be long, I gotta win

[12 O'Clock:]
I bust through these rap-ass doors, layin' laws
I'm a bubble for a cause, nigga, what's mine be yours
To my brothers, others get wrapped up in covers
I mean sheets, M-O-N's and police
Identify the mothafucka by his sneaks
Blown from big guns that rip through his sheets
Schemin' ass peeps want the stash the Jeep
The Pathfinder leather seats, she came with heat
My family trees'll never drop no leaves
A summertime breeze be as cold as sneeze
Pray at knees, pray like 10%, make moves like half the rent
It's money to be spent, none to be lent
Seen more pussy than Larry Flynt
Nigga rock 7 plus 45 cent
And when a nigga stop his wheels'll still spin
I'm sittin' at the bar drinkin' juice and gin
(Ooooooooh!)

[Chorus]

[Merdoc:]
I roll with all of us who make bread to break it up
Medina warriors, when we came they fucked it up
I'm into fast cars, Olde English, the house boats
Pretty bitches that deep throat and damn, a nigga tote
My Zu niggas really do roll, y'all niggas don't know?
Y'all candy-ass niggas is caprico', I send a smoke signal
And my niggas a long dist' get on some Mote, get you
And burn you with dirty pistols...

[Shorty Shitstain:]
YO! I wear all black, down to my shoes, to my black hat
It be's like that, all my niggas that don't know how to act
I roll with scam artistes and crooks
So no need to over-look 'fore yo shit get took
This is my barbeque and my barbeque smells good in the hood
All my niggas that's up to no good, put ya money on the wood
And make the gang cook good

[Chorus]