Crenshaw & Slauson (True Story) Lyrics

Crenshaw & Slauson (True Story) - Nipsey Hussle

...

Look, relate to you, I can't if you's a fake nigga

Where Level 4 in the state what your mistakes get you

Rap niggas, they just wanna double date with you

Twitpic and show these hoes that they affiliate with you

Labels used to treatin' rappers like a slave, nigga

Starvin' artist, "Just be happy with your fame, nigga"

Shit changed, now it's such a different game

All the niggas like myself is controlling everything

If you, pay attention see exactly what I mean

Fuck the middleman, I said that in 2003

Was 18, White Lincoln, chrome feet

Black .40 was my pillow, every night I go to sleep

Grown niggas treat me like they OG

Holdin' on to every word that the tiny loc speaks

I had a vision that nobody else could see

Sold my shit to D-Mac, a little less than 10 Gs

Brought my grocery bag of cash back to Blacc Sam

He matched a nigga, next day we went to Sam Ash

We bought a Pro Tools and a microphone

Studio was far from plush but them lights was on

Couple hunned thousand stashed at my mama's home

Real estate in Atlanta, but ain't nobody know

Mac 11s in the safe, hidden in the floor

My bro did it like nobody that I've ever known

Screens on every wall with 16 camera angles

Double pane bulletproof glass pushin' past the haters

Cuban links and Rolexes, fold a check from Epic

This industry ain't gotta like us but they gon' respect it

Built the label up from money we was savin' up

No details 'til the statute of limitations up

Couple niggas got flipped tryna play with us

The demonstrations speak loud so I ain't sayin' much

Was a charismatic nigga, I don't play as much

'Cause life is real when you live it in a place like us

School pictures crackin' smiles, now my face is stuck

Shell shocked to see how much they really hated us

Couldn't keep a kind heart, get yo' hatred up

Streets smarts, nigga, get yo information up

Watching Belly, smokin blunts, take Jamaican puffs

One day I'ma have a house and car like Jamaican cuz

Credits roll, back to stress pound breakin' up

Had to fight before we hustled, and it made us tough

Early '90s, neighbor's rooster used to wake us up

Mama had a bucket and a shack but we ain't make a fuss

Blue Cutlass, no license, .380 tucked

'96 Caprice 'Bolt Da Fatts' was savin up

They gettin' packed out if niggas try fade with us

Crenshaw and Slauson, True Story, Zo, play the drums

I got to this paper, no industry favors

Speaking to they soul, so they tell me I'm they favorite

Been through it myself, yeah, I know how it make you

Never let 'em judge you cuz they ain't you

I could tell a long story or just say I'm grateful

I could tell a gang of reasons or just say I'm faithful

I can sell a million records or just mixtape it

They don't really give a fuck long as I just keep pacing

Quiet for a year, gave no explanation

Now I'm 'bout to drop, I got 'em on that Proud 2 Pay shit

Half of a million cash, he gon' offer me a label

Told him that I need to own it, so I'm cool, kept it gangster

Holla back, real niggas what you calling that

You see the game fucked up, look, what part is that

They compare where I'm at to where I started at

They put me in the Getty, I'm a artifact

They can't never hang me on the wall, though

We presidents, nigga, we push buttons

The rest of y'all just react

Victory Lap, nigga, this Marathon

Still don't stop though

Count me up, count me up

I'm in this shit, you niggas is out as fuck

I'm used to people doubting I'd amount to much

I thrive off the challenge, I'm a childish fuck

I love toys so I'm by the buck

I hate to lose so I play too rough

I speak my mind and say I say too much

Minus the hip-hop, cops say I don't say enough

I know they listening to my raps

While I'm out running these laps

Tryna make my paper stack

It's like this and like that

I think I'm KRS

I think I'm dead prez

I think I'm 2Pac, nigga, I need some fuckin' meds

I think I'm Eminem, I'm going crazy

Shoot in front of the shop, Nas & AZ

I never planned to make it to a old nigga

Plant the bag, 560 off a zone, nigga

Dip my Giovanni feet in chrome nigga

Drop them bitches on Pirellis, hit the road with 'em

I should get the cover of the Rolling Stone, nigga

I should perform at the Old Republic or Rome, nigga

I'm not a rapper or a poet, I'm a poem, nigga

Ain't it amazing how I'm standing on my own, nigga?

Always pull up in foreign that's never loaned, nigga

Always speaking my music straight from my soul, nigga

My business partners Jewish but I'm all nigga

Still ghetto that ain't wrong is it?

Way I see it long as I ball, nigga

I'm a California don, nigga

Hundred thousand on my car, nigga

You know very well who you are, nigga