Text: Solomon Childs. Funeral Talk (The Eulogy). You Gonna Love Me.

[Intro: Solomon Childs]
Exclusive, S. Childs, believe me
That's right.. come on...
Yeah... Body town... New York City
Yeah, Broadway & Henderson, get ready

[Solomon Childs]
Got my own killa slang and dances
Certain hammers for certain circumstances
These the roads of Allah deeds, knawahmean?
I took the advances, and bulletproofed the Suburbans
No handouts, stay earning mine
The hood hate to see a nigga, shine, now I know
That a hoe, gonna always be a hoe
And twenty three's, can't fit on an '98 Tahoe
And ain't no superstars coming off Apollo
And chicks frontin' 'round the way with them tongue rings
Don't swallow, my mind was raped as a child
Rocky could of never beat Apollo
The feds could of never caught Alpo
P. Diddy would of never fell for a bird like J-Lo
Shit, this power to the peso, woola heads representing
Staten Island's criminal slums, we got the dirtiest sweatpants
But bet we got bullets in the guns, a ass full of jums
Blood all over your burberry, do what I gotta do to eat
Eat what I gotta eat, nigga

[Outro: Solomon Childs]
Yeah, yeah... heh... Bless Entertainmment
Yeah, exclusive... arms, the click
S. Childs... twenty oh three...