Utopia was a perfect society, and mostly everyone is trying to achieve their own personal utopia in some way. If a Utopia were so easy to achieve, then war or famine would be scarce. This is a term paper explaining just that.
I’m a rapper, but I’m still a gorilla. I’ll whip you like the Thrilla in Manila. You’re going to make me have to kill someone. I’m going to be here for a while, my friend. I’m not going to let anyone mess with me. I don’t need anyone hating on Juvenile.
Don’t talk about what you’re going to do with me. I’ll ride every day of the week. You’ll have problems if you mess with me. I’ll crawl to where you sleep. My people from the block and I will sneak up on you. Load up, cock back, and get ready.
Make sure you hold it steady. We’re going to go in there and blow the switch up. As soon as we get them, we’re all going to get the money. I’m still that regular cat from the street, thuggin’ it, lovin’ my life as Memph Bleek. But I’m stuck huggin’ that block, sellin’ that D. I grew up with nothing but killers and OGs. I’m the product of the ghetto until they bag me up with a bail stash in case they snatch me up. I’m a soldier in this war and I resemble my pops. I’m nothing like him, that’s where this criminal stops. I provide for the family, divide the grams, cook it, make flips, and survival plans. I had every intention of being successful, but I went to high school playing the bench. We live off wit, just like our switch-up strips. I was raised by the gun, so I switch up clips. I’m hustling, trying to switch up kicks. I won’t change being a thug; I won’t switch up anything. It’s my life, nigga.
