2pac Still I Rise Lyrics
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Somebody wake me I'm dreamin,
I started as a seed the semen
Swimmin upstream, planted in the womb while screamin
on the top, was my pops, my momma screamin stop
From a single drop, this is what they got
Not to disrespect my peoples but my poppa was a loser
Only plan he had for momma was to fuck her and abuse her
Even as a little seed, I could see his plan for me
Stranded on welfare, another broken family
Now what was I to be, a product of this heated passion
Momma got pregnant, and poppa got a piece of ass
Look how it began, nobody gave a fuck about me
Pistol in my hand, this cruel world can do without me
How can I survive? Got me askin white Jesus
will a nigga live or die, cause the Lord can't see us
in the deep, dark clouds of the projects, ain't no sunshine
No sunny days and we only play sometimes
When everybody's sleepin
I open my window jump to the streets and get to creepin
I can live or die, hope I get some money 'fore I'm gone
I'm only 19, I'm tryin to hustle on my own
on the spot where everybody
and they pops tryin to slang rocks
I'd rather go to college, but this is where the game stops
Don't get it wrong cause it's always on, from dusk to dawn
You can buy rocks, glocks or a heroin bong
You can ask my man he's a mind reader
Keep my nine heated all the time this is how we grind
Meet up at the cemetary
then get smoked out, pass the weed nigga
That Hennessey'll keep me keyed nigga
Everywhere I go niggaz holla at me, "Keep it real G"
And my reply til they kill me
Act up if you feel me, I was born not to make it but I did
The tribulations of a ghetto kid, still I rise
I stay sharp as always
Runnin ya bricks with blitz, through ya project hallways
Dumpin crews like two's, nigga all day
Secrets of war prepare me for the worst
A life that's lavish full of cabbage or a life that's in a hearse
But now my dreams it seems though,
Be placin triple beams and things bro
Diamond pinky ring got the loot poppin out my jeans
Verse 3 [Khadafi]
In ninety-six my glock's my plastic, passion for blastin bastards
No faces for open caskets, peelin ya cap backwards
Ya cowards ain't prepared for pistol practice
I send my missiles through your mattress
Leavin holes in your body like a cactus
While me and my crew be boppin more greens than topic
and loot to keep the seams in my motherfuckin jeans poppin
Leavin ya spleen to pick up
Half of you niggaz is softer than a Snicker
Let's go to war and see who draw quicker
and still I rise, and still I rise...
[2Pac]
Somebody wake me I'm dreamin, I started as a seed the semen
Swimmin upstream, planted in the womb while screamin
on the top, was my pops, my momma screamin stop
From a single drop, this is what they got
Not to disrespect my peoples but my poppa was a loser
Only plan he had for momma was to fuck her and abuse her
Even as a little seed, I could see his plan for me
Stranded on welfare, another broken family
Now what was I to be, a product of this heated passion
Momma got pregnant, and poppa got a piece of ass
Look how it began, nobody gave a fuck about me
Pistol in my hand, this cruel world can do without me
How can I survive? Got me askin white Jesus
will a nigga live or die, cause the Lord can't see us
in the deep dark clouds of the projects, ain't no sunshine
No sunny days and we only playED sometimes
When everybody's sleepin
I open my window jump to the streets and get to creepin
I can live or die, hope I get some money 'fore I'm gone
I'm only 19, I'm tryin to hustle on my own
on the spot where everybody and they pops tryin to slang rocks
I'd rather go to college, but this is where the game stops
Don't get it wrong cause it's always on, from dusk to dawn
You can buy rocks glocks or a HEROINBONG
You can ask my man Ishmael Reed
Keep my nine heateR all the time this is how we grind
Meet up at the cemetary then get smoked out, pass the weed nigga
That Hennessey'll keep me keyed nigga
Everywhere I go niggaz holla at me, "Keep it real G"
And my reply tilL they kill me
Act up if you feel me, I was born not to make it but I did
The tribulations of a ghetto kid, still I rise
[Yaki Khadafi]
I stay sharp as always
Runnin ya bricks with blitz, through ya project allways
Dumpin crews like two's, nigga all day
Secrets of war prepare me for the worst
A life that's lavish full of cabbage or a life that's in a hearse
But now my dreams it seems though, be placin triple beams and things bro
Diamond pinkie ring got the loot poppin out my jeans
[Napoleon]
Now I plan to keep my glock cocked
If trouble was searchin for me then why not?
Show em what I'm made of plus raised on, on my block
Chancellor Ave, where many turn to the street, thugs snatchin bags
We out for power, makin cash it wasn't fast it'll make me mad
I'm just like, pimp
My homey on the corner with his gat tucked, in
Youngest they buckin somethin the life he leads
the life he don't need, don't we all know
He tryin to rise up and we just go doe, still he rise
[Young Noble]
Dreams of lost hope
I hit the strip broke where the fiends get coke
and still I rise now I float cowards ghost
Whenever we come around, I'm runnin down
clutchin a pound, live as sirens, duckin the sound
I used to hustle with my moms till the sun came
My homey Harm doin time from this drug game
Stolen cars, war scars, born a Outlaw
Behind bars, go to sleep just to see the stars
Freedom is ours, though we trapped on a firm block
Crackheads only ten learn to duck cops
[Khadafi]
In ninety-six my glock's my plastic, passion for blastin bastards
No faces for open caskets, peelin ya cap backwards
Ya cowards ain't prepared for pistol practice
I send my missiles through your mattress
Leavin holes in your body like a cactus
While me and my crew be boppin more greens than topic
and loot to keep the seams in my motherfuckin jeans POCKET
Leavin ya spleen to pick up
Half of you niggaz is softer than a Snicker
Let's go to war and see who draw quicker
and still I rise, and still I rise...
2Pac's 'Still Ballin'' is a testament to the rapper's resilience and unyielding spirit in the face of adversity. The song, which features a posthumous collaboration with Kurupt, continues the themes of struggle and survival that are prevalent in 2Pac's body of work. The lyrics reflect on 2Pac's rise from a difficult childhood, marked by the expectation of ending up in prison, to achieving success in the rap game while maintaining his 'thug' identity.
The chorus, 'Still ballin', till the day I die,' serves as a defiant declaration of 2Pac's determination to remain at the top of his game, regardless of the challenges he faces. The term 'ballin'' is slang for living a luxurious lifestyle, but here it also implies staying true to oneself and persevering. 2Pac's reference to surviving a shooting ('I got shot but didn't die') and the loss of his peers ('many peers dead') adds a somber reality to the song, highlighting the violence that often surrounded him.
The song also delves into the darker aspects of fame and the street life, including violence, the pursuit of money, and the impact of living a high-risk lifestyle. 2Pac's lyrics are a reflection on the duality of his existence, where success comes with a price, and trust is a rare commodity. Despite the dangers, he remains committed to his path, 'Still ballin',' and invites his crew to stay true in the face of external pressures. The song is a powerful expression of 2Pac's legacy as an artist who consistently portrayed the realities of street life and the strength required to navigate it.
Back then, David listened to "All Eyez On Me," Disc 1, about 12 times a day. He'd ripped the music from a friend's CD. My family knew what kind of mood he was in based on which track he started with. When he came home from school and blasted "2 of Amerikaz Most Wanted," we knew he'd had a rough day.
Me, I'd listen to two songs: "Hail Mary" and "Keep Ya Head Up." I'd be in my room at night with the volume turned low, because it seemed like I was breaking a rule. My parents never said anything, but I wonder how they would have felt about their little girl lip-syncing the lyrics, "Activate my hate, let it break, to the flame."
And I loved "Keep Ya Head Up." I think part of me could sense that life as a black woman would be profoundly unfair, and I appreciated having Pac as a pre-emptive ally. My favorite line was, "If he can't learn to love you, you should leave him."
"I mean, he was cool, of course," David said over the phone, trying to save face for his idol. "He was cool as s***. He dressed cool and sounded cool and he did cool stuff. But he was so vulnerable. Maybe it's just one poser recognizing another."
I don't know if that's what everyone loves about Tupac. For me it rings true. Listening to him all these years later, he sounds like he needs something. In "Changes," Pac raps, "It takes skill to be real, time to heal each other." Cool kids didn't talk about healing each other. They weren't wounded to begin with. They didn't beg, either. But in "Hail Mary," Tupac pleads, "Come with meeeeee."
As two angsty black preteens, David and I knew which version of blackness was cool in our preppy, upper-class, mostly white Philadelphia suburb. It was an Allen Iverson, Ja Rule, Will Smith kind of cool, where everything was glamorous and sporty and badass (except when, in Will Smith's case, it was funny and goofy). David could go to school wearing a FUBU sweatshirt and make jokes in class and fit in. I had a little more trouble. My fifth-grade Iverson braids didn't go over well.
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