Anticipation - Lyrics - E.s.g.

[Chorus:] R.I.P. to my *** that's dead and gone Standin here blowed I dedicate this song R.I.P. to my *** that's dead and gone Standin here blowed I dedicate this song To my *** in the grave and my *** in the pen Much love for you fools, see you when I get in To my *** in the grave and my *** in the pen Much love for you fools, see you when I get in Come follow me now, and let me kick that old school flow All my Gs who got popped or else dropped by a .44 Tryna make ends, roll in Benz and stay tight Get high with the crew, *** one or two down tonight And stay true to the game, make yo cash the dash But 5-0s and jackers all over yo *** So *** stay woke, don't ever sleep when you creep Cuz nowadays they pack AKs and ***'s gettin deep Bustin bustin biggedy bustas keep yo pockets on fat And to my homies who rest, every night I look back And say "Damn, now why did my *** have to die?" To ease the pain I don't cry, I fire that potent fry And reminisce my life, I mean the whole 20 years Cuz over the days, crime has paid for many of my peers Some died from car wrecks, and Tecs to the necks I know my mother anticipate - now will her son be next? [Chorus] Funky funerals, sixty cars with lights and one cop Rollin slow behind a hearse block to block And uh, I couldn't make it, I was feelin worse To show my love for cuz, I pour some sip to the curse We had tight times, we even had lose times Sharin a brew, smokin a few, flashin up the deuce sign Rollin thick as a ***, with my whole *** click Yep, cut for one another, down to take a ***'s *** Crankin cars, nothing barred, the *** stayed tight Mobbin forty ounce, slobbin nearly every night Much goes to those, I'm givin it up, I mean my props From Charlie Brown to Shawn Miles and to my steppops I got nothing for love and it's gettin strong I keep my head up even when the ***'s goin wrong And ain't no use to me puttin out my fry Sometimes I anticipate - now will I be the next to die? [Chorus] And now it's 93, and ***'s still illegal So I gave in my Tec for a .44 Desert Eagle Still got memories of my homies in the past So I look high and ask the Lord if I last And if not, when I drop six feet deep Put a forty in my lap and in my mouth a swisher sweet And let the dead rest, and then close my eyes And if my *** ain't there, then I just might rise And bust a couple of caps the spirits from hell See, a *** might be dead but I got dope to sell So *** don't forget for y'all to bring the fry Cuz everyone'll cry and say "Damn - this *** had to die"