My Life lyrics

[Hook: Lil Wayne]

And I'm grindin til I'm tired

Cause they said you ain't grindin til you tired

So I'm grindin with my eyes wide, looking to find

A way through the day, a light for the night

Dear Lord: you done took so many of my people

I'm just wondering why you haven't taken my life

Like what the hell am I doing right?

My life

[Verse 1: The Game]

Take me away from the hood, like a state penitentiary

Take me away from the hood, in a casket or a Bentley

Take me away, like I overdosed on cocaine

Or take me away, like a bullet from Kurt Cobain

Suicide, I'm from a Windy City, like Do or Die

From a block close to where Biggie was crucified

That was Brooklyn's Jesus, shot for no fucking reason

And you wonder why Kanye wears Jesus pieces?

Cause that's Jesus, people - and Game, he's the equal

Hated on so much, "Passion of Christ" need a sequel

Yeah, like Roc-a-Fella needed Siegel

Like I needed my father, but he needed a needle

I need some meditation so I can lead my people

They asking why, why did John Lennon leave The Beatles?

And why every hood nigga feed off evil?

Answer my question fore this bullet leave this Desert Eagle

[Hook]

[Verse 2: The Game]

We are not the same, I am a Martian

So approach my Phantom doors with caution

You see them 24's spinning? I earned 'em

And I ain't no preacher but, here's my Erick Sermon

So eat this black music and tell me how it taste now

And fuck Jesse Jackson cause it ain't about race now

Sometimes I think about my life, with my face down

Then I see my sons and put on that Kanye smile

Damn, I know his mama proud

And since you helped me sell my dream we can share my momma now

And like M.J.B., no more drama now

Living the good life, me and Common on common ground

I spit crack, and niggas could drive it out of town

Got a Chris Paul mind state, I'm never out of bounds

My life used to be empty like a Glock without a round

Now my life full, like a chopper with a thousand rounds

[Hook]

[Verse 3: The Game]

Walk through the gates of hell, see my Impala parked in front

With the high beams on, me and the devil sharing chronic blunts

Listening to the Chronic album playing backwards

Shooting at pictures of Don Imus for target practice

My mind fucked up, so I cover it with a Raider hood

I'm from the city that made you motherfuckers afraid of Suge

{"Compton, Compton"} Made my grandmother pray for good

It never made her happy, but I bet that new Mercedes could

Ain't no bars, but niggas can't escape the hood

And it took so many of my niggas, that I should hate the hood

But it's real niggas like me that make the hood

Riding slow in that Phantom just the way I should

With the top back, in my Sox hat

I'm "Paid in Full", the nigga Alpo couldn't stop that

Even if they brought the nigga Pac back

I'll still keep this motherfucker cocked back