I’m in this for the love of the game.
I’m just trying to tame a wild brain,
Before an idea goes down the drain.
But like the Game ma Hip Hop jigga,
I’m mad inside like a broke street nigga.
I aint gonna blame anyone for pulling the trigga,
But on that I got nothing to vent out but anger.
When things are rough, that sometimes becomes the street swagga,
Some make a living from pulling the trigga
But then he becomes his own grave digger.
Leaving behind a lady with an eight figure
But hopeless where to get food she cant figure.
We all end up six feet under,
Just like those families we took asunder.
Are we not our own source of blunder?
Who send a bullet inside Lucky Dube the reggae singer?
And robbed humanity of a peace bringer?
When apartheid was on its peak,
Who was in the studios calling it a regime so sick?
Who helped represent Africa on the reggae scene?
And made the sound so tick?
Say no to the trigger,
It makes my heart weak,
And my knees squeak,
Reggae bring love back.
The Game used a Jim Jones track,
“Better days” came out tight,
He said they got Dre’s beat,
And that life in Africa aint fit,
cause kids got no shoes on their feet,
And that all we hear are bullet shots.
Tell me who shot pac?
East Coast may say who gives a ***k?
But Humanity is bigger than the sides we chose to take.
In the ghettos the story is the same
The trigger can’t be tamed
The police killing in the name of fighting crime
While revenge is served cold by the victim
Is this not a shame?
That humanity can’t control this button,
Not really a natural poison
But a man made source of pain
So deadlier than an overdose of cocaine?
Say no to the trigger.
It aint the best way to make our wallets bigger.
A tribute to fallen heroes.
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