Essay About They Gonna Find And Good Thing

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Word up, son, I heard they got you on the run
Filled with body, now its time to stash the guns
They probably got the phone tap so I wont speak long
Gimme a half second and Ima put you on
Its all messed up, somebodys snitchin on the crew
And word is on the street is they got pictures of you
Homicide came to the crib last night, six deep
axin on your whereabouts, so where dyou sleep?
They said they just wanna question you bet me and you know
that once they catch you, all they do is just arrest you
then arraign you, hang you, I dont think so
Its a good thing you bounced but now youre stayin low
Once in a blue I check ta see how ya doin
I know you need loot so I send it thru Western Union
They probably knock down the door
in the middle of the night, sometimes around four
Hopin to find who theyre lookin for but they want ta see
All they gonna find is mad empty bags of weed
But worse, son, you got the projects hotter than hell
Harder for brothers to get their thug on but oh well
Son, they know too much, even the hoodrat chicks
Oh, you heard who did what and why I dont this shit
So stop askin, then I know Im not goin crazy
From windows I see lights flashin and maybe
somebodys takin pictures
You know who that be, police lovers and neighbourhood snitches
They put up *?pertice?* so everybodys pointin fingers
and lyin, aiyo son, the temp is risin
Chorus:
The temperatures risin, no theres nothin surprisin
The temperatures risin, huh and nothins surprisin
The temperatures risin, huh and theres nothin surprisin
The temperatures risin (Theres nothin surprisin)
(Prodigy)
What up, black? Hold your head wherever you at
On the flow from the cops or wings on your backs
That snitch nigga gave police your location
Well chop his body up in six degrees of separation
Killer listen, shit aint the same without you at home
Phony niggas walk around tryin to be your clone