8 Million Stories - Godfather Don

Everyday my life blows like weed through a chalice

Thoughts of fear and pressure makes my heart cold and calloused

The wildest motherfuckers lay in coffins and cribs

Some neighborhoods are filled with pussies, they be talking that shit

They be like, «umm, I roll with Satan, hatin', straight-up evil»

Never knowing even your closest people don’t believe you

I deceive crews and bound to see through, your falsery

Bullshit spells and sorcery, you ain’t no kind of force to be

Reckoned with, I’m wreckin' shit like Christ on the Second Coming

On the real, I have the illest niggas dead or running

‘Cause in this game, it ain’t nothin' but deception

Niggas needing corrections, niggas needing protection

From the blast called 'realism' in the form of steel

Your brother’s crying, but I don’t give a fuck how he feels

You said «it's all about guns», and now when I produce some

Your bitch-ass choke up before you use one

The loose one in the crew now tight as Wayne’s pockets

You also came strapped—if you’re insane, cock it

This is all real—no need for skills or rap tactics

There’s 8 million stories and this one could turn to faggot

8 million stories in the city and this is just one

It ain’t where you’re at, it’s where you’re from

As darkness envelopes my town, I try to peep through

And adhere to my god—I'm not trying to hear you

You can’t tell me shit—all I know is what I’m seein'

Pushers dealing death like a TEC and Navy Gin

Using techniques of torture, but only on the agent

This shit turned my sister for a time into a crazed bitch

So don’t ask me why I walk around heated

Treat it, don’t even speak it.

The worlds we defeated

Though I retreated, inside my mind to find peace

But all I saw was black and stacks of indices

This is what it’s like in the mind of a killer

Not some souped-up motherfucker kicking filler

Proceed with caution, my mind’s lost in an abortion

Drugs cause distortion, reality’s contortin'

My rage is blown out of proportion

My peeps can’t deal, ‘cause they don’t feel the shit that I feel

Sometimes I want to strangle the man in the mirror

But is it his fault that, in the city, life’s iller?

8 million stories in the city and this is just one

It ain’t where you’re at, it’s where you’re from

I walk around town with my dreads down, I’m fed now

The sound of lead drowns, the clouds of pain in my head pounds

And bangs from being, in a sticky situation

I got my Glock cocked, ready to rock knots, and if you’re basing

Don’t want to hear no type of angles;

I’m down to strangle

I got a double-edged and not afraid to bang you

8 mill’on stories full of pain, grief, and sorrow

I transcend the day’s events and pray that tomorrow

I won’t be discovered in a room full of body parts

I’m highly sparked, converting evil into godly arts

And masochism.

Yo, pass the izm for the wisdoms

Out like Lucifer through use of crucifixion

The innocent is slaughtered, everyday’s kind of trife behind my knife

The killer Christian lives, but I don’t feel no signs of life

You know how my mind works, so why would you hurt a

Provider?

Put love inside ya, now I’ma murder

Stuck with the gut-clenching pain I can’t shake

I can’t make sense, livin' in past tense, I’m getting irate

So I break up, all your pictures, then I scar ‘em

All signs of love, bitch, I just cold par 'em

8 million stories in the city and this is just one

It ain’t where you’re at, it’s where you’re from