Cam'ron — Kill My Dog

[Tom Gist] (I miss you homie. Yeah) See they kilt him on a Sunday We was supposed to do a song that Monday Had dreams of getting on, one day, somehow, someway We would jump at the chance, like a good pump fake Said we wouldn't change and stay hungry But if I keep it funky Even Pac had to do the Humpty Sometimes bummy with a stack on him Sometimes fresh with cracks on him, figure him out He never shouted when he rhymed (nah) Respected words, could move mountains with his mind (word up) His best was first We in the hood, and I'm stressing (I'm buggin) He said they kill Martin Luther King, but not his message The jewels he dropped He never bragged about the tools he copped (never) But he had 'em One rule, shit, if they try to rob me, get at 'em And that's the way he fell up in Harlem He stuck to his words, they had to kill him just so they could rob him [Chorus] Asking why? The nigga had to die? It don't make sense (Shit is crazy, man. The nigga just ain't give up the fucking jewelry, man. Damn.) [Cam'Ron] Z died in '97 March 2nd, before 9/11 (World Trade ???) He won't see my Porsche 911 or the crystal in my place He dead, they said, get him a page on MySpace (get out my face with that) I turned my back and think I embedded the wreath??? (me) The casket drop, huh, I was dead on my feet (like a pallbearer) Yeah he resting in peace (what?) But because of him (what?) It's plaques on my wall, ya'll, instead of my teeth. (thank God) Madison Ave, got the leathers from North Beach (the hobo joint) Beamer in Philly, got broads from Broad Street He had the Honda Accord, made it more sweet (what up skeet) We balled every summer like West 4th Street (not the tournament) Now your face on the wall, next to liquor you figure They could read what you wrote Scripture is next to your picture (got your lyrics next to it) Might shed a tear but real men are here (believe that) It's hard to believe, my nigga, it's been 10 years, yeah [Chorus] [Tom Gist] His kids won't know him Who they father was? I'm a show 'em The world rotating in slow motion Lights are dim Hands crossed in his casket, no life within Some people they are phony I might be wrong, but it's easier to struggle with your homie I write this song with a swift pen And just then, the shit kicked in Like, I'll never see my nigga again (never) I can't meet him outside (nah) Dead, we can't play live Bum joystick, he can't take mine Called him a rebel with a cause (cause) Shit was strange, but there's things you can gain in loss That was my dog (dog) To the deathbed, I'm missing you bro (I miss you bro) Ya, still chasing dreams, still sick with the flow I gotta breeze, but I'm a see you in a minute (one minute) I'm just hoping, that heaven got a studio in it [Damn, crazy. It's my nigga, like, damn near my brother, unowaimsayin?, like damn near, damn near me, man. I'm a keep striving though. I'm a keep rhyming though. Cam, it's for you homie.]