E.C. Illa /

What You Be About?

For about as long, as I can remember
From January on, through to december
Motherfuckers in chi town been bangin
They had they little blocks and you could find 'em all hangin

The year was eighty-one, del plains and broadway
Vicelords and eagles, strappin in broad day
I heard this braud say call the cops
They swingin bats and chains, and they throwin rocks

And that was as bad as it got back then
Noone was servin blows pullin glocks or mack tens
So I kept to myself amongst the pimpin, and hoein
Gang population consistantly growin

Years went by and that shit got tight
Half my homies went left and the other half right
Despite all the past, they heads got swoll
And with the increasin age came the loss of control

We all knew better, but some didnt care
Like 'Fuck the next man ima get my fair share'
And with that came the shootin and sellin
And in the grade school hallways you could always hear 'em yellin

What you be about, What you be about
Some choose the people, some choose the folks
What you be about, What you be about
Some choose the people, some choose the folks

Now age 16 came and everyone had dropped out
And as far as beef goes, getting knocked out
Was cool, cuz you coulda got shanked, or blasted
In Chi town the gangbangin art had been mastered

At last it was just too far gone
The year was eighty-nine and it wouldnt be long
Till shit got as bad as it could get
Cuz wit no conscience, theres no regret

False flaggin techniques, were bein perfected
And fist to fist combat had long been neglected
Infected by the plague, of crazy ass shortys
Doin more dirt than men in their 30's and 40's

The more these kids did, the more they wanted to do
And if you got to catch a slug hope that its a twenty-two
Cuz survivin nowadays is a task
So you best know what to tell them when they ask


Now the present day is in effect and I cant walk down the street
Without some type of shit to put walks in retreat
Cuz these sets got the addicts acting dramatic
And in the summer time its even more sparatic

Cuz heat makes marks straight tameless
And all things considered, shits gettin outrageous
New sets poppin up like everyother day
Motherfuckers claimin shit cuz they know no other way

Sayin either flip this sighn, or hear a poppin sound
Im like I cant throw it up let alone throw it down
I done lost track on whos who and whats what
So to simplify shit I be layin in the cut

While my homies out there raisin hell cappin shit
Im creatin it my best wit this rappin shit
But if you think that you can hide then you dreamin
Cuz just chillin in my crib I can still hear 'em screamin