Like Mar-ty's uncle in that play-pen,
Hard time he'll be doin' back in the future when.
You'll be bound to go, for a bunch of years,
Don't steal that, son you'll be whimpering out your rear.

Don't steal that gun, don't want a Glock through your head,
Stealin' son could turn you dead.
Think stealin's some fun, please don't steal that son.

You'll rot in that place ev-er-y day,
But you'd never saw it 'til you're put away.
Con men don't play, I just want you to know,
Deep in your pay dirt, you're wronged, this is so.

Don't steal that son, don't take, that's gaffe,
Stealin' son's for those nether haves.
Don't steal cash or guns; Don't you steal 'em son.

'Cause stealin' son don't make you strong.
Stealin' son, for when you take, it's wrong.
Just chill stealin' son, and don't steal not none.

Chained in your bunk soon getting old,
Your very own soul sold, It's on you.

Don't steal that son, or your cell mate's Dutch,
He'll chill you out; You'll need a crutch.
Don't be thinkin' son with a knife or gun.

You'll be the one who will scratch their itch,
Drillin' son it's your sex they'll switch.
They'll be havin' fun, and you'll still stay numb.

So don't steal not none, don't go that route,
Or you'll have lots to scream about.
So go have some fun, and leave still the gun.