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Artist: Trae f/ Jadakiss, Styles P
Album:  Life Goes On
Song:   Smile
Typed by: Lil Hustle
Ya know, I never did understand why they always told me to smile
Shit, it ain't too much shit out here to smile fo'
Real talk, know it's still Asshole By Nature peep game
I remember coming up, labeled a lil' nigga
Watching niggaz fuck over they own, but see I kept it realer
But being real, ain't always what niggaz make it to be
I never thought me making it, would have niggaz hating a G
I got enough shit that I deal with, on a day to day
Penitentiaries and life after death, don't seem to go away
Even though I never know the outcome, something say to pray
I try to do my best to understand, he right around the way
I got a call from Mr. Rogers just the other day, telling me he by my side
I'm like what the fuck you talking bout, till he told me Laurna died
It fucked me up so much, I couldn't even go to the wake
But if her family call, I'm gon' make sure that they straight
It's like this part of my life I live, is damn near mastered
The mo' people I love, the more they get took away faster
Sometimes I feel talk to God, a lil' more than the pastor
Probably to live, and make sure my son never become a bastard
I never been the one to quit, I always been a leader
But I feel this world is like a bitch, and I know I don't need her
If I knew it was this, I'd never take the time to meet her
So I feel the frown across my face, the only way to greet her
In the process of being Trae, I missed out as a child
Probably cause reality my style
And they told my cousin death before he 30, after checking his file
He damn near 28, so how the fuck am I suppose to smile shit
I don't know my nigga, I ask myself the same shit ery'day
How the am I suppose to smile, life's real over here ya know
[Styles P]
Styles don't smile, the hood too foul
Them lil' niggaz is wild, man lost trial
Hit him with some numbers, he ain't eating during chow
He ain't even sleeping, even thinking bout his child
It's real fucked up, but he won't see him for a while
Same bullshit, trying to get you a money pile
We all see the revolve, the jail doors locked
I keep the tech, with the airholes cocked
Now I don't wanna shoot or get shot, but Pinero's not
Gon' fuck with these fucked niggaz, I aired those blocks
It's real hard to sleep, when it's money on the mind
And murder on the mind, puffing on the dutch
With a fistfull of iron, somebody mom crying
Cause somebody boy dying, it's the same old shit
From the wake to the funeral, the same old trip
Crack money rap money, the same old grip
Asked Trae, he could of smiled down in Texas living restless
Said the cops gon' get you, or niggaz'll leave you breathless
Shit I'm a winner, mo' like a sinner
Trying to make it to dinner then, live out to breakfast ya know
Trae, S-P how the fuck are we suppose to smile
Nigga, answer me that, maybe I'll fucking smile ya know
Nothing to smile about, these lil' niggaz is wilding out
If you do something to em, they dialing out
Everybody looking at you, like you fouling out
Every hood everywhere, this what it's now about
Where shooters is half your age, give you half the gauge
Daily news, half the page
Known as a thug now, he ain't just fly
Couple months in the group home, in D.F.Y.
Truthfully what could of been pending, never did
And he slid as a youthful offender, cause he's a kid
Problem is, person he shot was connected
He coming home thinking it's sweet, and don't expect it
Big but he's still young, to him it's still fun
3-60 waves new gear, blue steel gun
And they say, you ain't promised tomorrow
They got the drop, hit him right in his head with a hallow uh