Don't Understand - Mac Dre, Ray Luv

Once upon a time, before I had a 9

I didn’t have to grind all the time

Thangs was cool and brothers hung out

The South with the North and the North with the South

As time went on I started cravin for mail

Then came the yayo and then I started to sell

Money, money, money was all I knew

Cause 24−7 the fiends came through

Luxurious livin in the fast lane

But little did I know it wouldn’t last, mayne

From sellin the base cocaine I caught me a case

And then they put me away in a correctional place

They said I was beyond parental control

A hard-headed fool with no mental control

But for months and months I wrote and wrote

And when I got out of jail, I was funky and dope

Yeah I was straight spittin it to them fools up there, man

They didn’t understand this mouthpiece I had, you know

I knew I was comin up

Yo, that’s what I try to tell 'em, man

They don’t realize it’s a straight come up in the nineties

Aiyo, but what happened when you got back to the hood, though?

Back in the hood thangs was so different

The rollers was jackin and the brothers was trippin

Uzis and 9's was kept in the trunk

Cause the North and the South had high-powered funk

Thinkin to myself: Dre, leave it alone

Khayree hooked me up with a microphone

Deeper and deeper the funk kept on getting

But I wasn’t trippin, I had to keep spittin

Now I’m cold chillin on the t-o-p

And still ain’t trippin off the funk, baby

And if you don’t get the point of the story I tell

Quit trippin off the funk and make some mail

I grew up on the westside of Ro'

Slangin and gangbangin, hangin and smokin do'

'Stay in the house, don’t even think about goin out!'

My room was a jail cell, so young Ray sneaks out

I run with the rat pack, stack that, jack that

Need some for gold ones, then go mack that

Tender for dollars and don’t take no less

Than a c-note and stack that with the rest

Thinkin and knowin it’s all about the game

Dropped out of school for big fortune and much fame

Runnin around with a rag in your knapsack

Necks is cracked, Jack, now you pack, black

Why?

To smoke another brother-man

Mac Dre, I don’t see why don’t understand

Never was much of an athlete

Always craved stages and pages of rhyme sheets and rap beats

Working inside my room through the late night

Damn near goin blind writin rhymes by a dim light

Changin up my styles, learnin to flow fast and slow

Kickin the funky tempo, bass breakin the bedroom window

But now at age 19 I’m made with a crazy fade

Pockets feelin fat because a brother’s crazy paid

Back to where I used to kick it at

But since it got crazy everyone comes with a gat

Got myself a ounce and a bottle of boons

I checked my watch cause I knew I had help soon

Now I’m just sittin here thinkin 'bout days past

When the police stayed in a brother’s ass

While some brothers every week were gettin bailed out

I stayed my little black behind out of the jail house