soul food (remix)

Lyrics

, 1996. eightball and mjg, goodie mob, crazy c, bringing the soul food straight to you. sit down and get yourself a plate. "get a plate of soul food, chicken rice and gravy.", my old boy from the point. but i'm from southwest, and every now and then i get put to the test, but i can't be stopped, 'cause i gotta come true, ain't go no gun. but i got my crew, didn't come fo' no beef cause i don't eat steak, i got a plate of soul food chicken, rice and gravy, not covered in too much. drinking a cup of punch-, tropical-every last thursday of the month, daddy put the hot grits on my chest in the morning, when i was sick, mary had the hot soup boiling, didn't know why, but it felt so good, like some waffles in that morning, headed back to the woods, now i'm full as tick. got some soul on blast in the cassette, food for my brain. i haven't stopped learning yet, hot wings from mo-joes. got my forehead sweating, celery and blue cheese on my menu next, southern fry won't allow my body to lie still, tied face goons surround me like cancer, drill me with second-hand obstacles, but, only to make matters worse, plus, i'm getting pimped by this temp lady jackie, from optima: staffing figure. laughing, shut up clown. don't talk to me like that, looking stupid of course. living day by day, and you ain't hard trick? hell you say?, it's such a blessing when my eyes get to see the sun rise, i'm ready to begin, another chance to get further away from where i've been, but i'll never forget, every thing i went through, i appreciate the shit, because if i had of went and took the easy way, i wouldn't be the strong nigga that i am today, every thing that i did, different things i was told, just ended up being food for my soul, come and get yo' soul food, well well, good old-fashioned soul food, all right, everythang is for free, as good as it can be, come and get some soul food, sunday morning where you eating at?, i'm on 1365 wichita drive. old bird working the stove right?, church's dripping chicken in yesterday's grease, didn't go together with this quart of mickey's, last night hanging over from a good time, yeah, beef is cheaper, but it's pumped with "red dye" between two pieces of bread, shawty look good with them hairy legs, wish i could cut her up, but my stomach come before sex, a house full of hoes. now what's the ingredient: spaghetti, plus her monthly flow, they know they making it hard on the yard, fuck chris darden! fuck marsha clark!, taking us when we're in the spotlight for a joke, changing by the day. i see it's getting bigger in my square, looking at lenox from the outside, with a stare. no money to go inside, tameka and tiffany outside tripping and skipping rope, to the beats from my jeep, as i speak, "whats up" from the driver seat, a heaping helping of fried chicken, macaroni and cheese and collard greens, too big for my jeans, smoke steams from under the lid that's on the pot, ain't never had a lot. but thankful for the little that i got, why not be? fast food got me feeling sick, them crackers think they slick, by tryin to make this bullshit affordable, i thank the lord that my voice was recordable for soul food, come an get your soul food well well. hold up c. it's what i write, and miss lady, acting like we in jail, says she ain't got no extra hush puppies to sell, bankhead seafood making me hit that door with a mind full of attitude, it was a line at the beautiful, jj's ribshack was packed too, looking to be one of them days when mama ain't cooking, everybody's out hunting with the family, looking for a little soul food, come and get yo' soul food, well well, good old-fashioned soul food, all right, everythang is for free, as good as it can be, come and get some soul food, i got the fever for some ham hocks, hit the spot with hot spaghetti, some kool aid with three or four rolls and grape jelly, the same old prejudice folks from 65, it's 1996. they still alive, hell, i'm giving you a dose of my knowledge with hot gravy, jimmy swager, reverend ike and his wife: they couldn't save me, a buttered toast midnight snack with cold water, too late to thaw the chicken and cook it, so i ain't bothered, damn this last little helping of ham and christmas dressing, got me in the middle of february counting my blessings, like that government cheese in that no name box, keep me locked when i done ate all the beans in the pot, them old school hot mo cakes and mash potatas, helps keep my radar strong for infiltratas, from the days of my diapers 'til the day i'm old, i'll be soaking up the game. can you feel my soul?, eightball coming funki as a pot of chitlins, soul feeder with the lyrics i be spittin, getting lifted. gifted, god is my father. glory is my mother: the baked chicken smotherer, filling me to capacity when i was younger, "sprinkle me" like suga t, so i wouldn't have to wonder, about life; about the streets that i walk up and down, grab a pen, and let it take me out of orange mound, far away, i spend my days chuffing hay, got "inner city blues," but i'm not marvin gaye, pray. trying to find another way to make some pay, mom says without a job, her baby can't stay, gots to go, now i'm gone. hard foes, no food for the soul. this place is so cold, eightball and mjg, moe bee, "space age" soul food for your babies, come and get yo' soul food, well well, good old-fashioned soul food, all right, everythang is for free, as good as it can be, come and get some soul food, "cause i don't eat steak."