The Diary

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)