K'Alley - I'm Sorry Ms. Jackson

★ Intro ★
(Infinity, turn me up)

★ Verse 1 ★
I'm sorry, Ms. Jackson
We gon' do your son ass when we catch him in traffic
Buddy hit my line spazzin' like he tryna get active
I guess I gotta cross him off because he think he a factor
I'm just tellin' you I'm sorry in advance, go and pick out his coffin
Tried to squash it, but he told me that we way past talkin'
Postin' guns on the 'net, so I know we ain't boxin'
Guess I gotta put a hole in his head like a dolphin
Ms. Jackson, you won't get to claim him on your taxes
They gon' say I planned it way I knocked him off his axis
Won't see twenty-one if he keep actin' like a savage
I'm just bein' honest, I'm just sayin' what the facts is

★ Chorus ★
I'm sorry, Ms. Jackson
I am for real
You know I keep my steel
That mean your son gon' get— uh, grrah, grrah
I don't want to make his mama cry
But when we ride, it's gon' be homicide
And we don't slide, we glide with Glocks and 9s
He tryna hide, tell bro come walk outside
I'm sorry, Ms. Jackson
I am for real
You know I keep my steel
That mean your son gon' get— uh, grrah, grrah

★ Verse 2 ★
And Ms. Jackson said, "Please, it's another way"
I said, "Nah, I'm 'bout to leave that nigga holy, go and pray"
She said, "This is how the system expect for us to behave
We goin' at each other necks, so they don't need the KKK"
Dracos and K-K-K's, 'bout forty, came with a ray
We ain't killers, we just afraid that one day it's gon' be our day
Check the news and the people say that them bullets ate up his face
When we disagree, it's a killin' spree, wish it was conversation
She said, "Yes, baby, you thinkin' now
Give me the gun or put it down"
And I'm like, "Yes, ma'am, but talk to your child"
Soon as I tried to sit it down, nigga walked right inside the house
Seen me and then pulled it out, that's when we heard a fuckin' blaow

★ Chorus ★
I'm sorry, Ms. Jackson
I am for real
You know I keep my steel
That mean your son gon' get— uh, grrah, grrah
I don't want to make his mama cry
But when we ride, it's gon' be homicide
And we don't slide, we glide with Glocks and 9s
He tryna hide, tell bro come walk outside
I'm sorry, Ms. Jackson
I am for real
You know I keep my steel
That mean your son gon' get— uh, grrah, grrah

★ Outro ★
Black people are ten times more likely to be killed by gun violence than white people
Put the guns down, real men talk shit out
And your brother ain't your opp, it's the cops that kill us and get away with it
You gotta wake up