The Diary - J Dilla

Yea, yea, what’s the deal-y?

My nigga Dilla

For life, McNasty records, uh, yea

I come from a long line of pimps, hustlers, solders and thugs

With and sold through the blood

From a place called the Motown

Most of my niggas can’t hold a job but they can hold them a gun

Born and raised in the heart of this bitch

My father done started this shit

I’ve started spinning parties at 6

Blessed with the hardest of kicks

From Jay with the magic

And my uncle used to be in the attic

Sc-Scr-Scratching

He used to hit the weed and then pass it

Damn, look at me with the habit

Look at me counting my scratch speeding through traffic

Uh, but, the flow is colder than the floor in the cell

So bring your weed I got a story to tell

Yea, my nigga Dilla has been in the game for years you know what I mean?

Respect the game

It’s all real so yo, it’s time to kick up baby

You think you know, you have no idea

This is the diary of who?

(Gangsta, Dilla)