Lyrics Graveyard or the Pen - Quincey White

Ya headed to the graveyard or the pen
Ya knocking at death's doorstep
Let me in
Boy the way you living, you won't be here much longer
Living life on that corner
Ya headed to the graveyard or the pen
Are you gon die with yo rag in your pocket
And yo pistol in yo hand?
Ya headed to the graveyard or the pen
Mama tell me chill
Son slow down cause this shit it getting real
I don't want you locked up for life or getting killed
You don't give a fuck when ya really in the field
Pistol in my pocket while I'm out here selling dope
Just to feed my daughter homie I would sell ya soap
This the life for me, but I got dreams of getting on
Bro I got a million dollar scheme if you ain't know
We ain't just a gang
This my family, these my homies
If I can't do it by myself, they'll do it for me
The devil on my back
Angel A up on my hat
Right here where we're hanging man
The shit can really brack
If the enemies come, we gon lay them down
We got more shells if they double back around
Homicide rolling round my section asking questions
Man them pigs dumb if they think that I'm confessing
Ya headed to the graveyard or the pen
Ya knocking at death's doorstep
Let me in
Boy the way you living, you won't be here much longer
Living life on that corner
Ya headed to the graveyard or the pen
Are you gon die with yo rag in your pocket
And yo pistol in yo hand?
Ya headed to the graveyard or the pen
It ain't too many options that I got
A tombstone on my plot or 3 hots and a cot
Either way I'm bound to rot
Cause most of my homies done already died or dying inside
Staring at the clock wishing the time could rewind
Serving sentences long as they DOC numbers
Can take us off the streets but you can't take the streets from us
Suffering from post traumatic stress like a Vietnam vet
You can't silence all this violence
It's like Isis in my set
Ain't no waving no white flags, they red or blue
No matter how much they preach
The truth is, you'll never see a truce
Just the color of our laces
White walls on my Daytons, on my 64 Impala
Fuck a Rari, keep it gangsta
I can't leave the block, a anchor's tied on to my ankle
I cheat on every bitch I got
But to these streets I'm faithful
I done seen it all, death don't scare me
The OG's been tryna tell me
Ya headed to the graveyard or the pen
Ya knocking at death's doorstep
Let me in
Boy the way you living, you won't be here much longer
Living life on that corner
Ya headed to the graveyard or the pen
Are you gon die with yo rag in your pocket
And yo pistol in yo hand?
Ya headed to the graveyard or the pen