Hold Ya Head

My homeboys in Clinton And Rikers Island
Mumia Atumie, Geronimo Pratt.
All the political prisoners.
San Quenton.

Yeah,
One Thug, One Thug!
How do we keep the music playing?
One Thug, One Thug!
How do we get ahead?

I wake up early in the morning, my state so military.
Suckers fantasizin' pictures of a young brother buried.
Was it me, the weed, or this life I lead?
If daytime is for suckers then tonight we breathe.
Out for all that, knowing that this world brings drawbacks.
Look how this shit bumps once I deliver these raw raps.
Meet me at the cemetary dressed in black.
Tonight we honor the dead, those who won't be back.
So if I die, do the same for me. Shed no tear.
An Outlaw, thug living in this game for years.
Why worry, hope to God, get me high when I'm buried.
Knowing deep inside only if you love me.
Come rush me to the gates of heaven.
Let me picture for a while how I live for my days, as a child.
I wonder now, how do we outlast?
Always get cash, stay strong if we all mash.
Hold ya head!

How do we keep the music playing?
How do we get ahead?
Too many young black brothers are dying,
living fast, too fast.

These felonies be like prophecies begging me to stop.
'Cause these lawyers getting money everytime they knock us.
Slashing pockets lyrically, suckers flee when they notice.
Switched my name to Makaveli, had the rap game closed.
Expose foes, with my hocus pocus flows.
They froze, now suckers idealize my choosen blows.
More money mean litigating, more player-hating.
Got a cell at the pen for me waiting. Is this my fate?
Miss me with that misdemeanor thinking, me fall back?
Never that too much Tequilla drinking, we all that.
Make them understand me. Hey I'll stay all night out with my posse.
Everyone roll with me is family 'cause everybody's got me.
Watch me paint a perfect vision.
This life we living got us all meeting up in prison.
Last week I got a letter from my road dog written in blood
saying "Please show a player love!"
Hold ya head!
Hold it.

How do we keep the music playing?
How do we get ahead?
Too many young black brothers are dying,
living fast, too fast.

God bless the child that can hold his own.
Indeed, enemies bleed when I hold my chrome.
Let these words be the last to my unborn seeds.
Hope to raise my young nation in this world of greed.
Currency means nothing if you still ain't free.
Money breeds jealousy. Take the game from me.
I hope for better days, trouble comes naturally.
Running from authorities 'til they capture me.
And my aim is to spread more smiles than tears.
Utilize lessons learned from my childhood years.
Maybe Mama had it all right, rest your head.
Straight converstion all night, bless the dead.
To my homies that I used to have that no longer roll.
Catch a brother at the crossroads plus nobody knows my soul.
Watching time pass through the glass of my drop top Rolls.
Hold ya head!

How do we keep the music playing?
How do we get ahead?
Too many young black brothers are dying,
living fast, too fast.
(Repeat & fade...)



Transcription 1997 by Jim Moore for Relativity Labs.
Written by Makaveli.
1996 Death Row/Interscope Records. All Rights Reserved.
Used without permisson.