Fun, no fun, no fun . . . That's the way that we hustle, 'cause we struggle everyday [everyday . . .]. Pain . . . so much pain. Now, I'm locked inside this prison system, bitten, count days left on my Sentence. Now I can say that I've been here, but I sure ain't gon' come back Here. Uh-uh. The day they release me, I'm goin' home. I can cope, but I can't Adjust. These fuckin' steel doors drivin' me nuts. My last month, I'm ready to Move out. I'm sure. Stay on the low: I listen to thug stories, and be trippin' On niggas love stories. I'm fin to get out of this muthafucka--heard 'em call Out my name: 250-2-2-58. Pack up your shit; it's your day. Jumped out my bunk, Give all my shit to my niggas. In fact, I left everything that I had back in Jail but my raps. I'm on the streets now. Scene unchanged--niggas still the Same. I ain't fuckin' with you bustas, 'cause I'm tryin' to make a change. I Got with the real dogs, and we was schemin' on the mill, y'all. So we had to Chill on y'all. Get out of Cleveland, if we planned to achieve it. So we Planned it with Eazy on Greyhound, and now we lea! Vin'. That's the way that we hustle, 'cause we struggle everyday [everyday . . .]. Pain . . . so much pain.