(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
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