Camouflage 94-99 - Mac, C-Murder

Whoa

Yeah Yeah

Muthafuckin' camouflage hitman

Assassin, soldier, sniper, murderer

Nigga what

My brother Ghost off in this bitch

Smoke in this bitch ya heard me

To all the projects and suburbs and hoods in between

Keep a scheme like these crack fiends still on they scene

The life of the poor and dangerous wrote in my words

Quotin my verbs and words while they puff on they herbs

Sitting on my curb watching this birds

Lil' man he crossed the street trippin' on this gangsta shit that I word

I’m laying back with some neighborhood cats listening to some chat

About who’s on crack and all of that

Good times they like the Lord all of us is waitin for em'

Some junk got drunk and told my niggas that he saw him

They said it was lies but i was tellin my guys

He coulda been the very God in disguise in my eyes

The crack lady cried cuz' she was owing some guys

They rushed the crib and put the black around both of her eyes

You gotta play it wise and peep game from a distance

Abandoned houses is hotel suites for the rats and mouses

Or should I say mice the trigger spray twice

A nigga shot the street lights to keep his sights on the low

Plus the fuckin' 5−0 is interrupting my flow

I’m flirting with this neighborhood new face

She got an ass that’ll make you do base and screwface on your partner

But she’s a popper the type you pullin' out ya knot for

It ain’t proper I had to stop her

I had to stop her

Uptown, we live to die

Pour liquor for my niggas who enjoyin' the sky

If y’all identity with the way to survive

Then say camouflage

Check it we spray paint the block up

For the niggas locked up and those who got popped up

Pour the vodka on the concrete

Behind the cell catching hell gettin' my mail

You turnin' pale cuz you ain’t seen the sun since you in jail

They got you with the redband now you a walking deadman

And just to touch land you can’t wait like the redman

We still duckin from the fed man

Dippin' in the cuts like it’s?

With contraband in the hands of good ones

A nerd turned hoodlum paranoid be just like the shook ones

Limited be the life of crook ones

The ghetto ain’t the same devil is blamed

Younger niggas taking it to different levels again

Slim frame with the alias name was out of reach till them cellulars came

With chips up in they frame

And rocked limos with tinted windows

With these hoes?

sentimentals

Moonroof let ya' window blow

It’s all apart of growing up

Spiked punch got us throwing up

Weed slowing up the thought process

And it’s a thin line between reality and my rhyme

I walk in peace with the ghost of my kind

Stay close to my nine