Voice of the Yard Lyrics

Hell no

I'm not coming back to this hellhole

Cause I'm tired of going to court

Wearing these jail clothes

Upstate greys

Doing a long bid

A trumped up stay

Where racist COs

Have some fucked ways

They tried to pick on me

Cause I'm younger than most niggas here

But I always got a shank

And only shit that I fear

Is by myself

I might just kill somebody else

Cause how I felt

I'm not gonna be yelling for help

Like this dope fiend on the floor

And I'm just watching him melt

And I just seen a black man hang him self with a belt

And I don't know why

Cause we was just talking like yesterday

Damn fam

We was just laughing

And eating Bam Bams

We called him Shaq

Cause he was big and black

Now picture that

Most don't be in long

And saying

It's a wrap

That's some cold shit

But it's pure like fish scale

Without the nose drip

Swimming in filth

Just like a blowfish

Walking down the tier

Don't you look in no cell

Keep ya eyes to the front

Cause niggas crooked as hell

Niggas might be doing drugs

Or raping somebody raw

Or making shanks

Sharpening some shit on the floor

This bold guy

A real peacemaker with no ties

No lie

Got buck fiftied on both sides

A lot of niggas smart

But they only using their left brain

No spirit in them

And killing over a chess game

On the streets

Making choices is hard

I made a choice

Then became the voice of the yard

Behind bars

Got too many stories to spit them

And I'm tired of being tied to these prisons

But my niggas is in them

While you sleep

Your celly might be beating his meat

It's been a week

And this nigga won't stop

He's a creep

I'm on the top bunk

And I'm mad he's making it squeak

I wanna kill him

But he probably nuts all over his sheets

My bunky takes 12 pills a day

He's slow but he's not dumb

We're both here for murder

But his with a shotgun

A heavy set Irish man

Potbelly diet plan

Snores like a bear

Something's fucking with his diaphragm

A good dude

Who's not for rec or no sports

He loves cooked food

That's they call me

Chef Up North

OGs grand daddy's age

I sat with them

Broke bread

Ate snacks with them

And laughed with them

Told me how they use to march back in the days

When Dr. King was still alive

And they mom's was shackled as slaves

As little kids

Momma sharecropping

Makes me almost not wanna wear cotton

Snitches in the rear watching

On the streets

Making choices is hard

I made a choice

Then became the voice of the yard

Behind bars

Got too many stories to spit them

And I'm tired of being tied to these prisons

But my niggas is in them