(feat. Marilyn Rylander)    [First Verse (SPM):]    He was the son of a dope man, what he saw was what he learned  He left school, now it's finally his turn  To rob and steal, but he feels he needs to stop and chill  Cuz deep in his heart he knows that God is real  Mama still tries, to open his eyes  Cuz the way a man lives is the way a man dies  His father's doin' twenty-five to life  Cuz the love of money cuts like a knife  Blinding lights, he doesn't know which way to go  His best friend just got killed two days ago  He writes his Dad the first letter that he ever wrote  A little note, about how bad his heart was broke  Before the mail, could even reach his jail cell  The boy was murdered at a neighborhood hotel  Sellin' wholesale, just like his pop taught him  Rock bottom, a muthafuckin' cop shot him    [Chorus (Marilyn Rylander):]  We always will....  Remember you...  We always will...  Have love for you...  A taste of life....  And now your gone...  You found a life....  In the Land of the Lost....    [Second Verse (SPM):]  They met when they was teenagers, around the tenth grade  She fell in love, and now he wants to get paid  He convinced her to work at the buck naked  And everything she made dancing he would take it  She got a fake I.D., and a club license  A second life, that she had to live in silence  At seventeen, she got the strength to finally leave him  That's when she met the demon  It was a cold murder, he made sure that he really hurt her  Over dumb shit, but he had to take it further  Circumstances that led to last dances  She hit the canvas, now she at Saint Frances  Six o' clock services, feel the nervousness  Of having to look at death perfectless  I'm smokin' roaches burnin' the shit out my fingers  Rememberin' the words of the Church choir singers    [Chorus]    [Third Verse (SPM):]  Another Mexican gangbanger  Set tripper, wig splitter  A trigger happy ditch digger  Itchy finger quick to blast upon a rival  Vida loca, another word for suicidal  Same color of skin, but different color rags  Browns puttin' browns up in body bags  Every two or three streets is a different clique  They got no love for themselves so they livin' sick  For centuries we been fillin' penitentaries  It's plain to see, we're our worst enemy  The smartest, most talented of the raza  Is all dead or doin' time for a fuckin' Tronza  Geniuses, all dyin' meaningless  Cuz they can't find a way to break free from this  Needless to say, the gangsta that I speak of  G-Love, is layin' in a grave that he dug    [Chorus (2x)]