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| Coolio It Takes A Thief On My Way To Harlem Verse 1: I know a place where the trees don't grow Just another place where niggaz live low I know a place where life is fucked up Make a wrong move and your ass get stuck up Time ain't nothin but a frame of mind And life is like a mountain or a steep ass climb I've been lookin for a place to leave The only free place is inside of me So let's take a trip, and you don't need a grip But you better be equipped cause it might be some shit African-american, nothin but a nigga Had our fingers on the trigger, but i pulled mine quicker I know a place where there ain't no calm and You better stay away if you're soft like charmin South central, los angeles, watts, and compton A nigga on the west coast on his way to harlem Verse 2: Now it's time to step into the light (light) Put up your dukes, there's gonna be a fight (fight) And when it's time to fight, you better fight right Cause if it don't fight right, out goes the light Take a close look at what i'm freakin on Niggaz think i'm tweekin, but i'm speakin on Subject matter, data Information that i gather Through my travels Cause the hardest of the hard, hit hardcore killer Can't stop the slug of a nine millimeter Everybody thinks they know, but they know not If they haven't caught a cap on the block *gunshot* So shine up your boots and pick up the pieces Grab a fresh pair of khakis with the sharp ass creases Ring the alarm, here comes the storm I got a firearm on my way to harlem Verse 3: I know a place where the sun don't shine Everybody is a victim of neighborhood crime I know a place where niggaz walk the line One false step and they must do time Since i'm in the same boat I must stay afloat And sing every note From the quotes that they wrote So, i look into the past and walk the path of the greats So i wont make the same mistakes that sealed my ancestors fates If i had to be a slave i'd rather be in my grave If i get in how many lives could i save? One, two, three, a hundred, a thousand My heart is poundin, the devil keeps soundin But he don't want my money, he wants my soul So i reach like a tree, and like a weed i grow My stomach is full, but my mind is starvin Rollin in a g ride on my way to harlem |
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