Clipse - Young Boy Lyrics

Mmm I'mma tell you what I'm talkin bout
When I was a young boy
My momma always told me don't take no shit
Motherfucker hit you then you better hit 'em back
So when I hit the nigga it go blam
A nigga out of line

Back when I was 'bout Big Wheels and race tracks
Pops pushed a Tornado and rolled to eight tracks
Never stood a chance, exposed from way back
Lying to the baby, saying its Ajax
I was 'bout four when I walked past that door
That shoulda been closed where I first witnessed the raw
See in my household it was quite unique
Playing hide and seek you might find a key
Caught glimpse accidental, it branded my mental
Pals my role model in that Lincoln Continental
Bought all my friends Icees, it was 'bout six
And when he pulled off I was like, "See told ya we was rich"
How I turned out let it be no surprise
When they speak of cousin Ricky it brings tears to their eyes
See, my family got a history of hustlers
Lil' brother, big brother, mother to grandmother
It's tradition

Mmm I'mma tell you what I'm talkin bout
When I was a young boy
My momma always told me don't take no shit
Motherfucker hit you then you better hit 'em back
So when I hit the nigga it go blam
A nigga out of line
Motherfuckers out of line

My momma didn't see it coming, my daddy was there
What's my excuse? Cartoons were the root
Started with Yosemite Sam with the gun in
Palm of each hand, what couldn't I demand?
See, thirteen, studied the gangsta's lean
Low brim, no smile, lotta cash meanwhile
Daddy had the Chrysler Fifth Avey
Hustlers on the blocks cars were aero-dynamie
With ghetto paint jobs, Mango M3s
Seventeen inch B-Bs riding tough
The bike was Huffy, attention was froze
In a twenty five cent frozen cup laid my soul
The streets had made the mold
Since fourteen holding, Pusha T was chosen
Rebel like Che Guevara
RC Tyco versus Carrera, it's P

Mmm I'mma tell you what I'm talkin bout
When I was a young boy
My momma always told me don't take no shit
Motherfucker hit you then you better hit 'em back
So when I hit the nigga it go blam
A nigga out of line
Motherfuckers out of line

I think of grandma and the weight she would foot 'em
She kinda remind me of Madame Queen in Hoodlum
Sport the grandkids, each one she would treasure
Said she kept two guns and to do so was a pleasure
The cigarette dangle forty-five degree angle
Still every bit a lady but you don't wanna tangle
Let that explain me and how I got involved
Young'ns hustling in the Creek, me, Jon-Jon and Jamal

Age fifteen, walking through the hallway
Plate the new Jordans, first ones on the scene
See I could afford 'em, living out a dream
Hustler on the rise, laces untied
Slid past young'ns, couldn't break my stride
Didn't know I was knotted in street ties
Teachers askin' how and why
Bitches passing by: "Oh my, he's so gangsta"

Mmm I'mma tell you what I'm talkin bout
When I was a young boy
My momma always told me don't take no shit
Motherfucker hit you then you better hit 'em back
So when I hit the nigga it go blam
A nigga out of line
You niggas out of line, mmm I'mma tell you what I'm talkin bout