(cutting and scratching)

She's a part time

a part time

part time

She's a (part time mutha)

A part time

A part time

part time

She's a (part time mutha)



Meet Cindi, she's twenty-two, lives right on the dope track

Used to be fat now weighs less than a Tic-Tac

Now what's that say about, this big epidemic

This hypocritical world, and the people in it

Now speaking of in it Cindi loved to get buckwild

Fuck with a smile single file she'll bust nuff styles

That would be cool, if she was your lover

But fuck that, Cindi was my dope fiend mother

Welfare checks never stepped through the front door

Cuz moms would run to the dopeman once more

All those days, had me fiending for a hot meal

Now I'm a crook, got steel, I do not feel

So don't even trip, when I flip, with my thirty-eight

Revenge is a bitch, and my hit shake the murder rate

Word to the mutha, I'm touched

When moms come by, niggaz hush or get rushed

Maybe one day she'll recover

But what will it take, to shake, or break

My part time mutha



I gotta live with a part time

A part time

A part time

She's a (part time mutha)

A part time

A part time

She's a (part time mutha)



I grew up in a home where no-one liked me

Moms would hit the pipe, everynight, she would fight me

Poppa was a nasty old man, like the rest

He's feeling on my chest, with his hand in my dress

Just another pest, and yes I was nervous

Blood sensor tests, I just don't deserve this

I wanna tell mom, but would she listen

She's bound to be bitchin if she hasn't got a fix in

So... now I lay me down to sleep-acapo