I Stand Accused Lyrics

I Stand Accused lyrics

I see I'm peeking out ready to rumble

So now I'm speaking out

Against those that flip the way the story goes

One never knows



Who be flippin' the script whatever the traitors name

My aim is dunk 'em like, I'm Chris Webber

So many phony smilin' faces

Traces of slander got 'em comin' outta funny places



I had it an' hear 'em talkin' loud behind my back

What was good for the hood ts what they say is wack

I take the stabbin' and grin then I'm hit

'Cause I know the suckas smile when I leave 'em, what I'm comin' wit



I can't complain about the money, although the suckas in the back

They talkin' shit an' laughin' like it's somethin' funny

I aim to make changes an' never change unless its for the better

'Cause I always been a go better, clean hustler



Rhyme instead of muscle ya

Born when ya thinkin' I'm gone

The terror era is on



I stand accused to the crews, I paid my dues

I stand accused, I refuse to stand and lose

I stand accused to the news I kick the blues

I stand accused, I refuse



I hear 'em talkin' and walkin' behind my back I'm attacked

Fuck the knife in the back 'cause it feels like they got an ax

Yeah, I can dig it wit a shovel, I never dig dirt wit the devil

Instead I'm on that other level



But I took time to reach down to help the black and brown

I never stood around, I hear 'em talkin' behind my mind

In a ocean of sharks and a back full a hack marks

They say I'm fallin' off, yeah, they better call it off



And get muscle and find another hustle quick

Sick n' tired of critics but I can take a hit

I'm all man alley oopin' the vocal on jams

But they don't know it they can blow it



And take a puff of dis joint, I see I'm kissin' it off the cuff

Behind the back, I'm pullin' axes and blades out the arms and the legs

Still my fellas get paid the terror era is on

Fuck a critic, fuck, fuck a critic, all the fuckin' critics



Can get the did it, all a fuckin' critic does is

Draw a fuckin' line cross a line and dis my rhyme

And then they ass is mine, if you find a critic dead

Remember what I said, "Who killed a critic?"



Guess the crew did it, day paybacks a crazy ass message

Sent to the writers who criticize they're fuckin' wit a freedom fighter

Who raises flags and dragged the Klan in body bags

I hung 'em up in Mississippi and bum fuck



This is Chuck so what the hell, you think I did it for

To open doors from Carolina to Arkansas

And lemme let 'em, I met 'em, I told my boys forget 'em

An' what they did got rid of me, negative



But 94 got stunts and blunts in the mix

I hear the crowd fallin' Vic to old ghetto tricks

But if I wasn't your cousin, wed leave 'em in the dozens

Of sellin' out and bellin' out, half pint 40 ounce



Announce to the rest we had a fall out

I never took a drink, never took a hit or bribe

Or got spread by what a silly rumor said, never sang or gang banged

Sold out or rented hip hop 'cause I know when to stop