Lyrics Troy Ave – I Ain’t Mad At Cha
Text:
God Forgives and I don’t
Aye
Better dreams of being richer
Broke and with money wrote my songs and my scriptures then I got to thinkin’
(R.I.P. my nigga!)
Better dreams of being richer
Broke and with money wrote my songs and my scriptures then I got to thinkin’
Damn I miss my nigga if you ever lost somebody then say R.I.P. my nigga
(R.I.P. my nigga!)
Real nigga die, fake nigga went to jail
Ain’t no balance I need murder on that scale
I Wanna say more but the people on my trial
I gotta be cautious while I’m prepping for this trial
I sat for two months they wouldn’t give your boy a bail
I sat for two months they couldn’t get your boy to tell
?
said something he ain’t my dog that’s a opp
That nigga went to court started talking like a cop
9-1-1 niggas ?
but they not
Even fake friends left Troy went I was shot
Why these niggas ain’t put in pain went I was locked?
Why these niggas leave me to take on these Glocks?
Better dreams of being richer
Broke and with money wrote my songs and my scriptures then I got to thinkin’
Damn I miss my nigga if you ever lost somebody then say R.I.P. my nigga
(R.I.P. my nigga!)
Better dreams of being richer
Broke and with money wrote my songs and my scriptures then I got to thinkin’
(R.I.P. my nigga!)
Trife a wanskta actin’ like a real brother
But Banga ain’t fuck with cha word to my mother
We had real talks went his case was getting fucked
He asked for bail he said you was moral support
You seen Assanova at the Summer Jam facts
You said who did it? He said «Man it wasn’t me it was (Tax) »
But he’s a rat and fuck boy runnin’ its proven
I should let it happen when Banga bout to boom him
Boom! Boom! Nigga you been on my dick
Using my ad-libs asking me to take up a flick
You was right there when I was taking a ?
Asking Murda why he ain’t help why you ain’t help bitch
You a pussy and niggas was fucking ya bitch
She left and took the baby cause you ain’t have no chips
?
put you on and you took the bitch back
And when you fall off I guarantee she fall back
Sucka! You reminded me of that Hovain clown
His baby mom fuck that the nigga that work at food town
He beat up in the middle of her sleep
All because she got a text from Produce Pete
He said how this dick was I fucked you better than ya man
400 pounds on her neck choke slam
Damn! Right in front of the kids
I mean its only one bedroom where y’all niggas live
Is you mad that I got 6? I said let’s go half
And buy Lito a Drop 6 and he just laughed
I said «Bro what’s so funny?»
He said «Fuck him that nigga ain’t make us no money!»
Better dreams of being richer
Broke and with money wrote my songs and my scriptures then I got to thinkin’
Damn I miss my nigga if you ever lost somebody then say R.I.P. my nigga
(R.I.P. my nigga!)
Better dreams of being richer
Broke and with money wrote my songs and my scriptures then I got to thinkin’
Damn I miss my nigga if you ever lost somebody then say R.I.P. my nigga
(R.I.P. my nigga!)
