Artist: Kaotic Sypher f/ Bogus, True, P.I.Crazee Album: One Million Strong Song: Tight Situation Typed by: davpaul@dove.net.au Intro: (Gettin closer to God......) (Gettin closer to God......) (Gettin closer to God in a tight situation now) Now what do I do? I got nowhere to turn and run and hide Often contemplate suicide on my mind, but it keep me thinkin Steady drinkin, the liquor, got my shit gettin thicker And it seem my time on Earth is gettin short Two puffs left on my last Newport Lock the Glock and the 9, lock one in the chamber Danger, danger, pull the purse off a stranger While each step walks the fine line between pleasure and pain It causes the brain to remain sane >From questions learned from lessons daily Evil tries to persuade me into contemplation if I'm crazy Probably not, but who gives a damn if I shot I can end this bullshit in just one clock Hold the Glock, it's still ticks left on the clock It ain't no crock, so I shop in a state of shock Lookin for a J-O-B, but I can't see how I'm to survive, on $4-25? I's, don't know what to do I keep paging ol' G-O-D, seems like I can't get thru Walk the night streets with my piece as my peace Shaky face make me rethink, all these thoughts bringin heat to the dome, makin niggas well, really will prevail Is it better in hell or psycho in a jail cell? Well I can't tell, hearin noises, turn to voices I'm seein choices, none of mine rejoice this Another day in the life of a crook As I graze in the pages of the Good Book Break: (Gettin closer to God.....) (x4) (Gettin closer to God in a tight.....) (Gettin closer to God in a tight situation) It goes a BRRRREA, stick em, HOT HOT HOT, sick em Put em up, I gots the 9 and a ski mask, that's how I dick em Never lag, black denim pants sag Ain't nothin personal so put the personals in the black bag Lie down wit'cha hands behind ya back Don't neighbour roll cos the party's in the act Just in case you're wonderin who's the boss? I'm well hung to keep the shit strung like some dental floss Cos the streets ain't nothin but a (tight situation) In a 24-hour occupation Just last night, a brother tried to rob ya blind from behind when I came up the stairs, I was stuffed waist-deep He use ta wear black sweatshirt and black skullie Now he's lyin face down in a pitch black gully Shit's no joke, the streets is like pneumonia You can't shake the feel when the steel runnin up on ya Like u-hoo, Uncle Sam? Where the hell's the mule and the forty acres of land that you promised to my ancestors when we was emancipated Claim to set us free but we was still segregated Now all thru this nation, got these black folks dropped and shamed They locked in chains but now you know it's on again Cos we're comin at'cha just like markets Everytime we spark this gun, don't wanna run up on ya And grasp this noose around your neck Then hang you from the tallest tree up in them projects Got our women with no welfare cheques, powder milk and butter While our friends be on the corner sellin shit, killin each other Niggas on tough, none tough, holler if you hear me Gotta million black folk ready to march down on D.C. Interlude: Y'all brothers better realise that in the '95, it's either homicide or genocide If y'all can't find nothin to live for, find somethin to die for, nigga And that's on the real Takin a walks thru the streets of my city, yo The Buddha fillin my eyes, it ain't pretty though Blushed nose mockin the spots on the concrete It's residue from an earlier drug meet Concrete jungle, that's what they call it Well each day we're raged, a-palled Cos what it is, is a concrete hell Am I livin in a house or a goddamn jail cell? Bars on my windows, bars on my doors Shots ring out and I'm divin on the fuckin fllor What in the hell kinda way is this to live, yo? This can't go on, somthin's gotta give Break